


Starless Nights

by orphan_account



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Hospitals, Just a whole lot of crying kids, M/M, So much guilt, Swearing, Tony isn't all that tough, at least not all the time - Freeform, depictions of injuries, suggested gun and knife violence, suggested sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clay ran his fingers through Tony’s hair, the black stark against his skin, shiny under the sunlight. Tony closed his eyes against the touch, and for a brief, fleeting moment, the world was calm."Maybe...in another lifetime, we could have been happy. It wasn't supposed to go like this."





	1. Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> Howd'y doo and welcome to my first work:
> 
> Flashbacks are large paragraphs in italics, while italics can also be thoughts and or emphasizing words when they are only sentences.
> 
> There are time jumps. 
> 
> Also: please, please forgive any Spanish I use. It is entirely from google translate and I literally cannot speak a word.
> 
> I don't own any of these characters, Tony's brothers are mentioned but not actually introduced in the series and these are just my interpretations of them. This goes for all chapters of this fic. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter : brief physical violence and swearing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chest heaving, he threw his bike on the driveway and sprinted towards the house and up the porch, banging on the door urgently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE DATES BECAUse I made A FRIKIN TIMELINE AND IT'LL MAKE MORE SENSE

 

Six months passed since Hannah Baker killed herself, and life moved on. Justin Foley left Liberty High for good, disappearing to who-the-fuck-knows-where. Bryce Walker was on trial for the two rapes and had moved schools soon after Hannah Baker's parents came into possession of the tapes. The rest of the 9 reasons navigated the school in a quieter imitation of their past selves. Nicer, friendlier due to guilt. No acknowledgment in the halls but a slight nod to each other. No more frantic coffeehouse meetings. Clay Jensen no longer saw Hannah Baker in the corners of his eyes.

 

* * *

  _April 25_ _, 2018_

Clay shivers. It's cold here, the cliff. It's a bone biting chill that travels through the thin layer of his sweater easily and sinks deep into his skin. The place of so many secrets, and scene to so many of their nighttime wanderings.

"What are you doing?" Clay whips around, almost stumbles _._

That voice, the voice Clay's dreamed about in so many nightmares. The one he hears in countless sleepless nights under the black, starless sky. Smooth and rich, warming the night air as its glides into his ears.

He looks desperately into the all-consuming blackness that surrounds him.

But of course, there is nothing, nobody. No soft growl of a car idling behind him, waiting for him to clamber in. No reassuring gaze to meet his searching eyes. He is completely and utterly alone. 

 

* * *

 

 _October_   _20_ ,  _2017_

Clay panted as he followed the red mustang, struggling to keep up. His lungs were burning, legs felt like they were made of lead as he pedalled desperately. His entire being screamed for him to give up the chase. 

Clay followed the car up yet another suburban neighbourhood. He had never been in this part of the town before, the small dilapidated houses looked abandoned and quiet, but there was something distinctly eerie about them.

Was his friend going to stop here? It seemed as if Clay was in luck, because no sooner did the thought enter his mind, than Tony's car slowed down and parked. Grunting and all but falling off his bike into a nearby hedge, Clay dismounted his bike and peered at Tony. He was sitting in his car, tapping the steering wheel erratically, his dark features somewhat twisted. Then he stepped out of the mustang and stood up, carefully taking off his leather jacket and folding it on the backseat.

Locking the car, he turned and walked back up the street the way he drove in. Clay quickly stashed his bike in the bush and covered it with a few branches. He slowly moved up the street, following Tony for about a block until they reached a bungalow with a blue painted exterior. Clay made sure to stay far behind the other, out of his range of vision if he were to turn around. What was Tony doing here? Was this somehow related to his breakup with Brad?

 

* * *

 

 _(two_ _weeks ago)_

_Clay and Tony sat across from each other at a booth in the popular coffee shop, Skye being too busy with customers to sit and chat._

  _Clay sported a cappuccino today, and Tony sipped from a glass of water. They sat in some silence. The silence between them had become comfortable, as it almost always was and had been since they were kids. Either way, there was not much that Clay could tell Tony that the latter could not have guessed anyway. The quiet nuance of the coffee shop had become one of their after school hangouts, the rhythmic bustle of customers and strong aroma of coffee reassuringly safe._

  _"How's school going?" asked Clay.mStupid question, he thought._

  _"Eh pretty good, math assignment is killing me though," Tony smiled characteristically._

_"How about you? All good?"_

 " _Yeah it's been alright, I've"- Clay was cut off as Brad walked into the cafè, clattering the bells on the door loudly._

  _Clay had never really gotten the impression that Tony's boyfriend was a huge fan of his, probably because of the amount of time Tony had insisted on spending with Clay during the tapes a few months ago, but Brad was usually kind and understanding, treating him well all the same._

  _However, when Brad spotted Tony and Clay sitting together, he pressed his lips together in an irritated sort of way. He smoothly navigated the various tables and chairs and arrived at theirs, immediately confronting Tony. Clay looked away, wondering if he should leave to spare his friend some privacy._

  _"What the fuck, Tony," the taller boy spat the words, breaking their peaceful silence. "You're with him. Again. You don't seem to have any time for me -your boyfriend-anymore, do you?"_

  _Brad gestured at Clay as he spoke, who remained frozen, staring at the table._

 " _I think you need to calm down, Brad. We can talk this out." Tony's voice was coolled as he replied, but there was a slight edge under the calmness. Clay knew this was because Tony hated making any aspect of his relationships public._

  _"No, we can't talk about it, that's the last thing we can do. All you do is hang out with him. You won't tell me anything!" Brad was yelling now, causing some of the nameless coffee drinkers to look up from their mugs, startled._

  _"Ok, you need to chill the fuck out, Brad. Why don't you sit?" Tony's voice was louder now too, concerned, but firm._

  _Brad ignored Tony and seemed to be speaking more to Clay now than anyone else. His voiced drowned out Tony's protests._

 " _He's seriously messed up. He has bruises all over his body. He's picking fights with anyone he can find. He can't even do it anymore, not since that Hannah girl died."_

  _Tony stood up abruptly, clattering his chair as he made full eye contact with Brad for once, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes blazing and his jaw set._

  _"Do what exactly?" asked Clay, curious._

  _"I'm talking about"-_

  _"Get the fuck outta here, Brad," Tony interrupted. They stared each other down, Brad's chest moving heavily._

 " _We're over," Brad said. He turned quickly on his heel and left, slamming the glass door on his way out._

  _After a few moments of wordless staring, Tony sat back down._

  _Clay decided to break the silence. "Jesus, what was that about? And what did he mean about bruises, Tony? Have you been...picking fights or something?"_

  _Tony took almost three minutes to reply, but Clay waited patiently. Seeming to regain some of his usual charm, Tony shook his head "I'll admit, I haven't been the world greatest boyfriend. He was jealous that I spend so much time with you, that's all." Tony's lips pursed in a small smile._

  _"But you're my oldest friend, Clay. He doesn't get it."_

 

* * *

 

_(right now)_

Tony stood straight-backed as usual as he knocked twice on the door of the house. It was answered by an older, rough looking man in a tank top. He leered at Tony with missing teeth and spat something out that Clay could not hear from a distance. He watched Tony's angled jaw move in reply, then made a sharp intake of breath as the man drew back his arm and punched the teen squarely in the face. Even from his hiding place, Clay could hear the sound of the fist to skin contact, and Tony's slight gasp of surprise. He stumbled backward from the force of the blow, straightening up with his back against a wooden support.

What the hell? What should he do? Through the open door Clay could just see a group of around seven men watching the exchange, drinking from beer bottles and laughing. To add to Clay's confusion, Tony said nothing in reply, and did not even try to fight back as the older man wrapped him in a tight headlock and dragged him inside the house by his neck, Tony's body twisted uncomfortably as he was forced to move. The door slammed abruptly.

Clay stared at the closed front door, terrified. Should he call the police? Was Tony there on his own will? Was he blackmailed? Forced?

Clay suddenly remembered a conversation he had with his friend a few months ago.

_"The police in my neighbourhood are a little different than yours."_

Clay needed to tell someone, needed to get help. Racing back down the street, he tore his bike from the bush. The Padilla house. He would go there first and find out from Tony's brothers what was going on.

_Please don't let them be hurting him, please make sure he's safe._

 

* * *

 

_(two weeks ago)_

  _The cushion in front of him squeaked as Skye jumped onto it._

_"My shift is done and we need to talk," she said, lowering her voice._

_"Did Brad just...break up with Tony?"_

_"Yeah I... I think so. Do you know something about it?" Clay asked, confused._

_"Hey Skye, what did Brad mean when he said Tony couldn't do it? Do what?"_  
_To his surprise, Skye made an exasperated expression._

_"What?" Clay had that confused look on his face, the kind he got when the point had overflown his mind completely, and Skye knew she would have to explain it to him._

_"Oh my god, nerd...Jesus. He was talking about sex."_

_Clay blushed, looking mortified." Oh sorry. Yeah, that."_

_It was hard to imagine what Tony must be like in bed, but whenever it crossed his mind he felt a twinge of something strange in his stomach, so he usually avoided the thought. Brushing the feeling off, he moved closer to Skye._

_"Well, Tony doesn't really tell anyone that kind of stuff," Clay muttered defensively, trying to cover up the pause._

_Skye smirked a little. "Yeah, I always kind of assumed he was a bit of a player, but I guess not. Maybe he's all sweet and soft on the inside."_

_"He's private as hell," Clay mused._

_"Anyway, after Hannah, he said he couldn't...y'know," Skye told him, watching his expression._

_"Skye! How much did you eavesdrop?" Clay's eyes were wide. He knew he was hearing something he really shouldn't know, now._

_"Brad thought it was weird, too," continued Skye. It seems like something's bothering Tony. Ever since you decided to take a little road trip, I've thought..." She trailed off, picking at a shiny black nail._

_"Really? You think so? I thought Brad just said all of that stuff to mess with him," Clay prompted. He hadn't thought anything was too strange with Tony. But then again, his friend was notorious for keeping Clay out of the loop of what he sometimes referred to as "negative energy"...whatever the hell that meant._

_"I don't know... it's hard to tell. That thing that happened when you were gone though, Clay? It was bad. Like, fuck, he was practically on the ground. I don't think Brad would lie like that. Everything seems fine, but it's Tony. He wouldn't tell me anyway. I'm not his best friend." Skye looked at him pointedly._

 

* * *

 

  _(right now)_

 "Fuck," Clay swore aloud. Brad had told him. He had said it. As if in a echo, he heard the taller boy's voice again.

_"He's seriously messed up."_

He's seriously messed up, _help him._

Clay reached the Padilla house as the sun reached the middle of the sky.

Chest heaving, he threw his bike on the driveway and sprinted towards the house and up the porch, banging on the door urgently.

"Damn, chill the fuck out, kid," said a man's voice, slightly accented.

One of Tony's older brothers opened the door, staring intimidatingly at Clay, who was sweaty and pale.

The man was around his mid twenties, long dark hair and wearing a white t-shirt and sweats.

"Hey, you're my littlest bro's friend, aren't ya?"

"Please... you need to help, he went into this house or something and he- he- they hit him and"-

"Okay, you need to slow down, white boy. Say it clearly, so I can understand," interrupted the brother in a _perfect_ replication of Tony's usual reaction to Clay's panic.

"I followed Tony because I thought there was something wrong, he was acting really off. And he went into this house, and- and this guy punched him and dragged him -I don't really remember where we were"-

Clay was cut off again by the ring of the brother's cellphone, this time.

The man held one finger up, gesturing for Clay to give him a moment, and accepted the call with a frown. He listened intently for a few moments. Then he scowled and his face darkened.

Swearing, he hung up the call and said "Thanks kid. You're his friend? You come along too. I know where he is."

"Where?" asked Clay, surprised.

The man didn't answer, just paced a few steps backwards into the house and yelled "Josè, Miguel! Get over here now!"

Tony's other two brothers bounded into view.

"What's the white boy want?"

The oldest brother replied in Spanish, and Clay heard Tony's name several times, as well as another name, _Marco._ Clay waited while they discussed whatever they were talking about, brows furrowed.

"What's your name, kid?"

"My- I'm Clay."

"Like th' soil?" asked the youngest-looking brother.

"Aren't you Tony's friend?"

"Yeah-"

"I'm Julian. This is Josè, and this is Miguel." Julian gestured at the youngest brother, and then at the tallest one.

"Do you know where Tony is?" asked Clay.

"Yeah we do, I can drive there," replied the oldest brother.

"Where is he?"

"A fucking snake pit, isn't it?" muttered the one called Miguel, shoving something into his pants that Clay couldn't see.

"Talk in the car," barked Julian.

 


	2. Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony remained silent, but a tear trickled down his face in pain. Or maybe, Clay thought shakily, humiliation.

 Clay had known about Tony's brothers since elementary school, but he had never actually talked to them. To his understanding, only one of them actually still lived in the Padilla house, but the others were still around frequently enough. He would sometimes see an older version of Tony working in the garage underneath a car, or making food in the Padilla's kitchen while Clay and Tony watched TV on a lazy day. Clay recognized Josè the most, him being the brother that still lived with Tony, their parents and their sister. 

They were all similar looking, taller than Tony, tan and black haired, and well balanced with a natural grace. Julian had the longest hair, which was slicked back casually behind his pierced ears. Miguel and Josè had shorter, wavy cuts of shiny black hair. All were tattooed, Miguel by far the most heavily with two full sleeves and sporting a silver septum ring. 

They walked quickly around the back to a white mustang (of course) that Clay remembered as the one Tony had parked behind when Clay had followed him to the shipyard months ago. 

 "White boy sits shotgun," ordered Julian. The brothers got into the car in a pile of tan, muscled limbs.

"Where is he?" Clay asked again, as the white car screeched out of the drive and shot away from the Padilla house.

"He's with a guy I know. Or our family knows. Name's Marco. He's a high level dealer, but the man's scum." Julian furrowed his brows again as he spoke to Clay, frowning.

"You mean he's like... doing drugs or something? With this Marco person?" Clay didn't know how to feel, biting his lip nervously.

Julian laughed bitterly, "Likely not that, no. Tony doesn't mess with that."

Clay sat in silence as the three brothers  continued to converse in rapid Spanish, their voices tense.

"No es esto, Julian?" Miguel murmured from beside him, startling Clay out of his thoughts. Glancing over at the street outside, he realized that they had reached the area he had followed Tony to earlier in the day.

Tony's brothers, he noticed, looked anxious and grim. They passed Tony's red mustang and continued down the road. Glancing at the abandoned vehicle, Julian spoke quietly. "Which house was it?" He asked Clay.

"This is the house." Clay pointed at the faded blue walls as the white car slowed to a stop.

All four of them got out of the car, Tony's brothers slamming the doors quickly and jogging to the front door of the house. Clay followed, blood pounding in his brain.

At the door, Julian turned to his brothers. " I don't know what we're going to find in there but you get him the fuck out, understand? Even if he fights back."

They nodded. Josè turned to Clay, "Stay behind me, white boy."

 

* * *

 

Julian knocked three times on the door. Someone on the other side opened it slowly. Clay had a limited field of vision from the gap between Miguel's shoulder and the doorframe, but he saw again the room full of men. The man who opened the door looked Tony's brothers up and down.

"What the fuck do you want?" he said, breath smelling strongly of stale cigarettes and beer.

"We're here to pick up one of ours, spat Josè from behind his brothers.

Screaming with cackling laughter, the man shouted to an unseen person "Oi Marco! These dipshits are here to take back their goods."

"Let them in," a gruff voice ordered. Clay could hear amusement in the reply.

The man at the door gave a dramatic bow, and gestured for the group to enter.

Julian hesitated, back straight, then walked through the door. Josè, Miguel and then Clay filed in after him.

As Clay entered, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark room.

There was a group of about six men sitting on a large tan sofa set. In the corner of the room, two others sat at a wooden table underneath the only lightbulb in the room.

Tony was shirtless and sat gingerly on the edge of a couch, as far as possible from the group of men on the other side. Clay's breath hitched.

There were large, purple and blue bruises covering the majority of his exposed chest. Lighter burns and knife cuts, some old, some fresh, were visible where his jeans hung low on his hips.

With a very dry lump in his throat, Clay realized that the fresh crimson stain drenching the seat of Tony's jeans and smeared down onto the floor was blood. His hair was wet, _drenched_ in blood and other liquids, disheveled, and fell limply over his face.

He looked like he had been tortured.

"If it isn't Julian Padilla," mocked a young man with lots of piercings. He leaned against a wall, face shadowed.The group men were staring at them, laughing and waiting for their reaction. Tony stared at the ground in silence, shivering.

The two younger of the Padilla brothers gaped at him. "What the fuck, Tony?" breathed Miguel. Clay watched as Julian scanned his brother's body in silence, assessing the damage.

"We're here to take our brother home," he said finally, moving his eyes back to the man referred to as Marco. Clay could see his clenched hands, trembling with anger.

"I don't think that'll be necessary quite yet," laughed Marco loudly. A couple of the men jeered.

"Now boys, we wouldn't want to be having a problem, would we?" Julian's voice was lathered in honey, but a shiver travelled down Clay's spine at threat beneath the tone.

"No, we don't want any problems," Marco nodded to the man who let them in, who picked up a baseball bat from the floor.

Without warning, the man with the baseball bat swung back and smashed the bat into Tony's ribs with a crack. He gasped in pain, falling off the couch and onto the ground, face twisted in silent agony.

Julian shouted in protest and Clay tried to lunge forwards, but was heavily wrestled back by Miguel. "Wait," the older boy whispered in Clay's ear. The room was thick with tension.

Tony seemed unable to move, laying mutely with his cheek pressed against the tiled floor and clutching his bare side. His hazel eyes were extremely wide and they met Clay's desperately with an emotion he could not read at once. Blinking, he realised that it was embarrassment.

"We fucked him real raw, didn't we, boys?" bellowed Marco, earning an round of cheers and hollers from the assembled men.

"Yeah, the first time he came here he had never even had it in the ass and we were _happy_ to oblige," laughed a man who was sprawled across a couch, sipping a beer.

"That bitch is so torn up now, nobody will want it anyway, better to just leave him with us, kids," piped up another voice.

"Little shit took it like a man though, didn't he."

The man who had opened the door laughed while reaching down to grasp Tony's throat, causing him to choke and struggle for air. Tony tried to hit the man holding him, but his hand missed weakly; a clear foot away from its target.

"That's enough, let him go." Julian's voice was cooled, but a truly dangerous look spreading across his face as he took in his youngest brother's condition.

"Let him go? That's fucking funny, mate," the men laughed again, clinking their beer bottles in cheers

"He's been free to go. He keeps on coming back." Marco screamed with derisive laughter. He pulled a heavy pistol out of the waistband of his pants and examined it theatrically.

Tony started grasping at the hand around his neck. He gasped for air, but the man didn't let go.

Clay could not stand it anymore. Tony's face was starting to flush blue. He ran forwards, snarling, "Let him go, you fucking asshole!" He didn't get far, feeling a rough grip on his arms, but he swung violently and was glad to feel a solid contact until another man twisted him into a headlock.

"White boy!" exclaimed Josè, looking surprised. Clay winced in pain as the man holding him sneered, twisting one of his arms to breaking point.

With a strangled sound, Tony broke free of the man holding him and, gasping for oxygen, staggered to his feet to punch Clay's captor in the jaw with a hooked arm, while gripping his ribs tightly with the other. The man dropped Clay with a yelp, and this time, José yanked him back bodily by the arm, pushing him behind Tony's brothers once again.

Tony crouched on ground, coughing and choking, every breath causing him agony in his throat and ribs. "Fuck," he swore. His voice was distorted in pain.

Marco laughed, brought his hand around, and casually whipped Tony in the back of the head with his pistol. He fell to the floor instantly from the shock of the blow.

"ENOUGH." Julian growled, barely holding himself back. But still, he waited, assessing and glancing at the gun in the other's hand.

"He came to us, begging for us to kill him, but I had better ideas," laughed Marco in a high voice, prodding Tony's limp body with a leather boot.

"He comes here all the time now. Just lets us you know. Do whatever." Hoots of amusement and agreement followed these words.

"He does it to punish himself, don't you," Marco kicked Tony, smirking.

Tony was breathing too shallowly, Clay thought, and too fast. He looked so completely fucking sad, lying there on the ground,and the only sign of movement were his blinking eyes.

"Tony?" Julian caught his brother's gaze as he asked for confirmation.

Tony remained silent, but a tear trickled down his face in pain. Or maybe, Clay thought shakily, humiliation.

Julian stiffened. Clay felt a gut-wrenching pull of _anger_. He had known Tony all of his life and never, ever had he seen him cry.

In the next moment, chaos broke loose as three things happened in a split second:

First, Julian screamed, "I'm really going to fucking kill you this time, Marco!" His voice was strangled, inscenced.

Second, the three Padilla brothers attacked the mob, ruthlessly clearing a path towards Marco, Julian at the front with a previously concealed pistol now clutched tightly in his hand.

Third, Clay leaped forwards, landing hard and covering Tony with his body.

Gunshots went off. Blood sprayed like rain onto the ground where they lay. Clay could hardly see, and there was a ringing in his ears, but he could feel Tony shaking underneath him, could smell the metallic tang of Tony's blood. They heard screams of pain and bodies dropping. Smoke filled the air.

The dust cleared and Clay loosened his grip on Tony's waist and looked up hesitantly to see an empty room, with the exception of the few unconscious bodies who had not managed to escape the house in time. Tony's brothers were standing, busy taping Marco's hands and feet to a chair while the drug dealer swore obscenities.

"You'll regret this Padilla! I'll fucking murder your whole family if I have to!" the pierced man threatened, shaking in the effort to break the duct tape.

Julian just smirked, considering his captive thoughtfully.

"I already fucked that kid so much, he practically belongs to me. Fuck you, Julian. Touch me and I'll have my guys kill him and everyone else," Marco was grasping for straws, and now Julian's face darkened in anger. 

"That's my baby brother you're talking about, cunt." Julian told him softly, danger laced in every intonation of his voice. "And don't ever mention my family's name with your filthy lips," he added, as an afterthought. He gestured for the other two to finish taping the drug dealer down.

When he was bound and gagged, Miguel smoothly pressed Marco's own gun to his temple, a look of revulsion on his face.

  
Julian's lip twitched viciously. He tucked his gun back into his sweatpants and instead reached into his pockets and pulled out a long silver knife, tapping it on the chair's back, causing it to make a slicing ring that reverberated in the air.

"It's going to be a long night," he told the other man softly, licking his lips as his eyes gleaming slightly in the low lighting.

 


	3. It never rests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why the fuck had he done that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments. Enjoy!

Tony shifted on the ground, moaning softly, and their eyes fell onto him again. Josè pulled off his sweater and threw it on the ground next to Tony.

"Clean yourself up, kid. You look like shit."

"Take it easy on him, bro," growled Miguel, not taking his eyes off of Marco.

'"Lo siento-" Tony started to say something in Spanish but Julian cut him off.

"It's okay, I won't tell papa. But Tony, these people would not bat an eye if they killed you. And you let them use you as their plaything? You ever do something like this to yourself again, I will fucking kill you, lo entiendes?" Julian looked again in disgust, his voice shaking.

Tony turned his eyes down in shame. His dark lashes brushed against his cheekbones. He tried to sit up, but couldn't raise himself off the ground, chest heaving from the attempt.

Julian sighed, walking over to Tony and Clay and scooped up his youngest brother up in his arms, ignoring the metallic tangy mixture of blood and cum that coated him as he did so.

Tony didn't resist, leaning his head onto Julian's chest. Miguel and Josè stayed in the house while Julian carried Tony outside, followed by Clay.

They were whispering things to each other in Spanish, Tony's lips barely moving. After walking in silence for a few moments, Julian addressed Clay.

"What you did back there... Thanks. For protecting him," he directed at the fair skinned boy walking a little ways behind him.

"N-no problem." Clay stuttered, as he flicked his eyes away from Tony's limp body to meet the brother's honest gaze.

They reached the spot where Tony's mustang was parked.

"Can you take him somewhere safe? We have some unfinished business here." Julian fumbled with Tony's jeans pockets and produced the keys.

"Yeah of course." Clay couldn't think properly. Tony looked so uncharacteristically weak.

Julian nodded, set his brother down inside the passenger seat, and turned back to the house.

Tony didn't seem to be able to sit up. He slumped across the car seat and carelessly lay his filthy hair on his oh-so-precious leather, clutching his brother's sweater to his bare chest. Clay opened the drivers side and slid in next to him.

"Hey Clay," he muttered, his voice raspy and choked.

"Tony..."

Tony closed his eyes and turned away, and Clay realized that he was crying. Heaving sobs racked his body as he wiped his face on the sweater he was holding. Clay was at a loss for what to do, but stretched out his hand to settle on Tony's back. He seemed to gather some comfort from this, so they stayed in this position for a while until the gasps subsided somewhat.

"I'm sorry you had to be there, Clay," he grunted, and Clay realized he was still holding onto his rib cage.

Should he take Tony to a hospital? He eyed the way Tony winced as he shifted positions.

"No hospital, I'm fine," Tony caught his eye. Damn, how did he always know what Clay was thinking?

"You wanna go home?" he asked softly.

He had to listen carefully to hear the strained reply.

"No, papa's at home. Just drive."

Clay started the car. "Tell me the truth, Tony," he said simply, as they began to leave the street behind.

Tony replied after a few minutes "Clay, I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No, tell me fucking why!" Clay didn't want to be angry at Tony when the latter was in such a damaged state, but he couldn't hold himself back. He stopped the car. He could feel his eyes watering. He felt a river of anger pounding in his brain.

"What the hell is that, Tony? Letting strangers what? Gangbang you? Or some shit? Hurt you? Fuck the shit out of you?" he hated the way his own words sounded as they left his mouth, but he needed to say them.

Tony stared forwards and spoke very softly, Clay barely able to hear his voice."I...I see you, jumping off that fucking cliff. In my dreams. Wherever I go. And then Hannah gets up out of the body bag and she screams at me. To save her. And I'm scared, Clay. Wherever I go, the screaming doesn't stop, her voice doesn't go away. And Alex? I made him listen to the tapes, Clay. I forced him and I thought I had to do it because it's what Hannah wanted and I already let her down before - I let her walk away from me- and then Alex shoots himself- and you're dying-" his voice grew higher and higher as he spoke.

"And then I go to them and they...it numbs everything else-"

Clay shivered. The mix of emotions in his stomach didn't have a name. The thought that Tony would do something like this to himself, willlingly let himself be _tortured,_ was swirling around in Clay's mind, and he felt sick.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clay struggled to keep his voice steady.

Tony didn't reply, turning his face away again.

"Tony", he pleaded again.

"I couldn't... you see me like this. So fucked up" and Clay could hear the raw tremor in his voice now. Tony gasped again "I-I went in there trying out pick a fight. I wanted to fight. I wanted to hurt..but instead they -I just-I just-" Tony stopped talking, trailing off into silence, clutching the sweater to his chest.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been going to that shitty fucking place, Tony."

"Since I got the tapes."

Clay didn't force him to elaborate, and they dropped back into silence.

 

* * *

 

_They were seven years old and Clay's dog had been hit by a car. He cried for days, talking to no one. Not until a small Puerto Rican  boy approached him at lunch hour and asked him what was wrong, sitting down next to him. For the rest of that year, Tony talked with him, became his best friend. And at that time, his only one._

_They were twelve years old, in the seventh grade. Clay had his head shoved down a toilet by a group of tougher older kids. He had told Tony that he could work through it himself, that he was okay, but when the bullying didn't let up, he arrived to school the next week to see his tormenter sporting a black eye, and a sudden, strange fear of being anywhere in Clay's vicinity._

_They were seventeen, and Hannah Baker left thirteen tapes for Clay to play. And Tony was there always, watching him, reassuring him. Reading his mind, understanding how he felt, practically babysitting him as he struggled through the complicated final message left by his friend. Making sure he didn't do anything stupid. Driving Clay forward literally and figuratively and keeping him from looking back._

 

* * *

 

Because Tony had always taken care of Clay, like some kind of earth bound guardian angel, and he was such a fucking gangster all of the time, Clay understood that he had to break, even if just for a little bit.

And more so, Clay realized something with a physical shudder. Clay wasn't the person Hannah had said he was. He could never had been that person. For all Clay's common decency, he'd been selfish as well, and Tony had always accepted him that way.Tony was tough, and intimidating and passionate and he was kind and always there for Clay because he knew he was needed, even if Clay didn't.

These revelations rose to his mind naturally, as he drove through the dark streets, the injured boy at his side silent.

He stared at Tony, who kept his eyes closed, breathing quickly. Who was in so much pain that he had to hurt himself to forget. Who fixed Clay patiently, like he fixed those cars in the shop. Tony, who kept Clay _living,_ and forgot about himself.

He would take them to his house, then. His parents would be away for the weekend, so it was empty, and anyway, they wouldn't mind Tony staying over.

Clay looked over at Tony's silent form. He was still shirtless; seemingly unable to pull the hoodie over himself, he had given up. His bruised face was slack with exhaustion. Anger rose in him, and guilt.

 

* * *

 

_(Four weeks ago)  
_

_In a fit of anger, Clay hurled his phone at the wall. It smashed the screen on impact. Thkings weren't looking great in Hannah's case. The defence was taking every twisting loophole it could reach, it was almost ridiculous. The Walker family had paid good money for their lawyers. Fucking hell, his own mother had fought against his case._

_"Fuck this shit," Clay swore._

_He needed to get away. Stuffing a backpack, he swore again, and left his house, locking the door swiftly. He would take the bus to the next town over, he decided. Take a break from school, take a break from everything._

_A week later, Clay Jensen took the lakeside train back home. He had done a couple things before he left, writing a note to his parents._

_It simply said: taking a break, will come home._

_He'd spent most of his time in one of the many library cafès in the town over, spending his days reading books or surfing the internet._

_The day he went back to school, Skye informed him in the hallway, teary eyed, that he was an asshole._

_"You didn't answer your phone, anything," she spat at him, wiping her eyes on a long sleeve._

_"I..I'm sorry Skye", Clay said, truthfully._

_"Fuck your 'sorry', Clay, I was scared you'd gone and killed yourself!"_

_"Okay, chill the fuck out Skye, it's not that dramatic-"_

_"Not- Not that dramatic? How dare you do something like that so close to what happened to Hannah, we've had two fucking kids die in two months and you expect us not to worry? Jessica flipped out too, she called everyone."_

_She paused."And Tony?" her eyes met his, a million things unsaid. Trying to communicate something without having to say the words._

_" He had some kind of .. like... panic attack the third day you were missing. In the fucking **middle** of fifth period. I've never seen him like that. Ever."_

_Clay stared at her, eyes wide.  
_

_"I-"_

_"You'd better go apologize to them both, right now, because I'm telling you they were fucking scared, Clay. He was terrified."_

 

* * *

 

_(right now)_

Why the fuck had he done that?

When Clay pulled into the driveway of his house, it was early evening. He parked the car and slipped Tony's keys into his pocket.

"Can you walk?" Clay spoke for the first time in nearly twenty minutes.

"Yeah, I just need a sec," Tony said, but with a hint of a scowl, unwilling to abandon his pride. Nonetheless, Clay ended up half supporting, half dragging the heavier boy up the steps and into his house. He moved Tony up the stairs in a very similar manner, being too skinny to actually lift him up. Every movement seemed to cause the other pain.

"Hey Clay-" Tony gasped, struggling to catch his breath, "I need.. I need a break."

They were halfway up the stairs. "Okay, just uh, here, sit down." Clay tried to manoeuvre him into a comfortable position, but the dried blood stained down the backside of Tony's jeans brought him short.

"Tony", he asked tentatively, "how many times-" he didn't even really know what he was asking, yet the state of immobility his friend was in was really starting to ring alarm bells.

"I don't know." Tony's reply was so quiet that he almost missed it. It broke Clay's heart.

They sat there in silence for ten minutes, until Tony was able to climb again. Clay supported him into the bathroom.

"Thanks Clay," Tony nodded at him.

Once Clay left, Tony took off his pants very slowly, tossing them carelessly in the trash.

His legs stung to high hell when it was they were by the water, the many carved initials cut into his skin protesting the hot spray, but Tony grit his teeth through the pain. Scrubbing down every inch of his skin that was not sliced open, he watched as the trail of pinkish stained suds waved their way down the drain, then stood under the stream of water until it ran clear again.

Clay's shampoo smelled like pine needles. He poured about half the bottle on his head. Slowly, Tony washed his hair, scrubbing his scalp carefully until it felt clean again. Then he grabbed a dark blue towel, disregarding the white ones for fear of staining them, and dried off as best he could, wrapping the towel around his waist.

Avoiding the foggy mirror, he held the wall for support as he moved into Clay's bedroom. Hit by a sudden wave of dizziness, Tony stumbled, trying to aim his fall onto somewhere that would cause the least pain. A few moments of mute panic, then he collapsed onto Clay's bed. The fall jolted his ribs, and he cursed in pain. _But anyway,Clay wouldn't really mind if he just stayed right here for a bit..._

 

 


	4. Julian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony stays the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Warnings for: Depiction of injury. 
> 
> Enjoy! Drop a comment down below if you liked this chapter!

Clay walked into his room a few minutes later to see his friend sprawled across the middle of his bed. His hair was wet, but freshly cleaned. The towel had slipped open, revealing a mess of fresh burns, bruises of handprints and...Clay felt sick- carved initials on the sides of the tanned thighs. He suddenly felt an overwhelming nausea and sprinted to the bathroom to vomit into the toilet.

He brought out the first aid kid on his way back from the bathroom, but the best he could find was a kind of cloth medical tape. Cutting it into strips, he stuck them across the deeper cuts on Tony's arms and legs, using it to pull the skin back together. In the deepest cut, which was high up on Tony's inner thigh, he was able to see yellow beads of fat and white ligaments inside. _Jesus...how did he not bleed to death?_ And then he shuddered, remembering Hannah in a sudden flash of fear. Clay shook his head trying to distract himself by continuing to work on the deep lacerations. He wasn't very good at it, but after about an hour, he had patched up the worst ones fairly enough.

Clay was unsure if he should move Tony, but settled for decency by tucking a pillow underneath his head, and covering his body with another blanket. He paused. He didn't really want to leave Tony's side tonight, in case he needed help. He grabbed a sleeping bag from the laundry room and rolled it out onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

_(Eleven weeks ago)  
_

_Clay and Tony sat across from each other in the school library._

_"No, you have to convert to Kilograms first. If the equation doesn't have grams-which none of them do- then you convert." Tony sighed, exasperated._

_"Tell me why you took physics again?" he asked Clay, smirking._

_"Oh shut up Mr. I-can't-count-to-ten-in-French," Clay shot back._

_"You're right, I should have just taken Spanish... that would have worked out nicely."_

_Tony erased Clay's answer with a ring adorned hand. "Redo it," he ordered._

_"Bossy," Clay muttered. He could smell Tony. He smelled of faint cologne - spicy wood and something slightly sweet- with undertones of gasoline from working in the shop. He realized he was entirely too close to Tony to remain comfortable. His friend didn't seem to notice though, flipping through the textbook and finding the right tutorial._

_Clay watched him sweep a stray lock of sleek black hair back behind his ear._

_Tony's voice from the day they had climbed the cliff drifted back to him as though from across the room...  
_

_"Clay.... you know I'm gay, right?"..._

_"Tony."_

_The darker boy looked up, noticing for the first time their closeness. Their knees knocked together. Clay stared curiously into Tony's hazel eyes. His complexion complimented them very well, Clay had always thought. Well, he had thought it, but had never really **thought** it like he did now._

_Tony licked his lips and broke the moment, shifting easily back on his chair and shoving the binder towards Clay._

_"Work, Clay," he said simply._

_"You really are bossy," Clay groaned, turning back to his homework._

 

* * *

 

_(Right now)_

From his view from the ground where he lay, he stared at Tony's hair. It had begun to curl in its natural wave that Clay had never actually seen before; Tony had always kept it slicked back, even when they were young, and even when they had gone swimming it was tied back smoothly into a bun. He liked it curly. It felt like he was seeing a raw part of Tony that he had never been invited to before.

The moonlight fell across his friend's face. In a fit of worry, Clay leaned over and pressed his ear to Tony's chest to make sure he was actually breathing. Relief flooded him as he heard the slow intake of breath.

Clay didn't sleep that night. His mind was too full of things done and said, and found out. And some things that he didn't want to think about at all. Every half an hour, he would rise and check the other boy's breathing, just to make sure.

When the sky started to look a bit less black, Clay got up and made scrambled eggs with orange juice and toast. He wasn't actually allowed to eat upstairs, but he brought the entire ensemble to his room nevertheless, and laid it on the bedside table, along with bottles of water and some choice painkillers.

Tony would need some clothes when he woke up, he realized, and although they were more or less able to wear the same size, he hastened to find the loosest pair of sweatpants and t-shirt he owned. He didn't want the fabric to rub against the cuts in Tony's skin. He also chose some boxers and socks from his drawer, stepping back to admire his choices. Tony would at least approve of the Nirvana shirt, if nothing else, he decided.

Then he sat on one side of the bed, grabbed a piece of toast from the endless pile, and began to eat it, gazing at Tony's sleeping form. The blanket was covering the bottom half of his body, but his bare chest was exposed, lithe figure littered with tattoos. Clay remembered when he got those tattoos. If he was correct, Tony's brother Miguel had been a huge influence. Tony had never really explained why he got them. He must ask him someday.

One arm was still clutching his rib cage-Clay worried that it was broken- and the other was clenching the blankets. The vulnerable veins of his neck were exposed to the world. Clay hated seeing the fingerprint bruises adorning them.

 It took Tony another half an hour to start stirring next to Clay. Clay felt the blankets shift and glanced over to see hazel eyes staring back at him. They looked more green in the misty morning light, Clay thought. 

"Morning," Tony stated matter-of-factly. His voice was smoother than yesterday at least, but still rough. He brought his hand up to scratch at a chin of stubble, frowning.

"How are you feeling?" Clay asked.

"Pretty decent," he said as he tried to sit up, but only succeeded in doing a sort of awkward half crunch. Clay just watched him pointedly.

"Okay fine, my ribs are pretty broken if you ask me, and it hurts to move and I really don't want to see what's down there," he gestured to his lower half "...hey, is that food?"

Clay couldn't help but grin a little, passing Tony a piece of toast. "Don't worry about the crumbs or anything, I gotta wash the sheets anyway."

Tony glanced down at Clay's light blue sheets, which had become bloodstained through the night. "Oh shit, sorry Clay, fuck." he apologized, although the effect was somewhat ruined by his continued toast chewing.

"It's nothing," Clay replied, amused.

"Here, see if you can lean on these." He propped some pillows behind Tony's head. This helped him succeed in raising himself to a half inclined position.

"Yo, you did these pretty good, thanks Clay." Tony observed the many long strips of tape holding the cuts together.

There was a knock at the door. Clay checked the alarm clock, confused. It was almost 5 AM. _Who would be knocking at a time like this?_

"I think that's probably my brother," Tony mused, reaching to take a sip of juice.

"I'll let him in," Clay said, as he stood up and went to the door.

"And uh, Clay?"

"Yeah?" he replied, poking his head back into the room.

"Got any clothes I could borrow?" Tony said sheepishly, glancing at his naked body.

"Oh fuck, I forgot." Clay grabbed the clothes from the chair and passed them to Tony.

"Nirvana. Nice, man."

True to Tony's word, Julian was waiting outside when Clay came downstairs.

"Hey man...Clay, right?" he said when Clay opened the door. Clay nodded, and they shook hands. "Is my brother here?" he asked, taking his shoes off at the door.

Julian looked tired and worn, but alert as he stepped into Clay's house, still wearing the blood-flecked white tshirt from yesterday under a leather jacket, although it was one marginally more toned down than the one Tony owned.

"Yeah, upstairs, second door on the left," Clay directed him, watching the dark haired man climb the stairs quickly.

 

* * *

 

When Clay entered his bedroom a few minutes later, Tony was dressed, sitting on the bed with his back leaning against Clay's giant pile of pillows. Clay could see him clearly now in the light from the rising sun. His face was a mess of yellow and purple, and his exposed arms were cut, medical tape stuck perpendicularly across the deepest slices, but he gave a small smile as he saw who entered. He had tied his curly hair back into a relaxed ponytail using an elastic that Clay remembered seeing on a pill bottle.

"Man, you sleep with all this fluffy shit?" Julian snorted. Tony smirked.

"What, it's comfy," Clay retorted. He was glad to see Tony smiling though.

"You need a girlfriend bro," Julian advised, and when Clay had no reaction he asked, "Boyfriend ? Hey don't worry about me, I ain't got no problems with that. You can have Tony."

Tony groaned, "Shut your trap, puta."

"He protected you yesterday, and he was the one who came and got us in the first place. I'd say he'd make a pretty fucking great boyfriend, wouldn't you, Clay." Julian winked at Clay knowingly.

"I, uhh-"

"Get outta here Julian, jesus," Tony interrupted, sparing Clay a reply.

"Okay, okay, I just came to check if you were fine." Julian laughed in a good natured manner."Those cuts need stitches," he continued, eyeing the deep slashes in Tony's flesh.

"I figured that's why you came." Tony scowled reluctantly as his brother pulled out a medical kit containing a curved needle and thread which he sterilised carefully.

"The longer these babies wait," Julian told Clay, indicating the knife slashes, "the worse it is. That's why I had to come so early. Dropped the other two off at home and came straight here."

Tony gritted his teeth, hissing in pain as Julian pulled the tape off the cuts gently and started sewing with a practiced hand. Clay kept an idle banter with Julian as he stitched, mainly to distract Tony from the sting, but also to keep himself from feeling nauseous as he watched the needle go in and out of flesh.

For the worst looking cuts on Tony's thighs, he had to remove one leg at a time from Clay's sweatpants, keeping a blanket over his crotch for decency, because had had apparently dressed too fast to remember to wear the boxers. Julian seemed angry at the severity of the injuries, cursing under his breath. After he finished tying the last knots, he secured large bandages over the deepest ones, looking up at Tony.

"Your ribs are probably broken. Just take it easy and they'll heal," he said, observing the way Tony clutched his chest tightly.

"And for god's sakes, stop breathing like that or you'll get a chest infection. You need to fill your lungs," he admonished, seemingly unable to hold back from mothering.

"Hey, what happened to that guy, Marco or whatever?" Clay asked, directing his question at Tony's older brother.

"Oh Marco? Don't worry, he won't be touching our baby brother again any time soon."

"You didn't kill him," murmured Tony "I guess that's for the best."

"Or ever," Julian amended with a smirk.

"You killed him? Julian! Fucking hell!" Tony swore.

Julian scratched his neck, looking at the floor, but continued.

"We really took our time too, drew it out all night. That piece of shit got what was coming to him. And now all his friends know not to mess with any of my brothers ever again," he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

"He deserved it," Clay said quietly.

Tony stared at him. "Clay!"

"Keep this one," Julian told Tony in a mock stage whisper.

Tony was still staring at Clay in amazement.

"Well boys, I am off, " the bed springs creaked as Julian stood up, having completed his task. He grabbed a piece of toast without invitation, biting into it gratefully.

"Tony, want me to bring you home later?" he asked.

Clay answered for him."It was hard enough to get him up the stairs, he can stay here tonight if he wants. You cool with that,Tony?"

"Yeah, I am." Tony looked at Clay, surprised. "Bring my toothbrush and stuff though will you, Julian? Some clothes. I think this is Clay's only wearable shirt." Clay punched his arm in retaliation, but lightly.

Julian nodded and stepped back, taking in the two. "I like it," he appraised to nobody in particular, then waved to Tony before leaving. They listened to the thuds of feet down the staircase, then the closing of the front door.

 "Did your brothers really kill that guy? What if they get caught?" Clay asked Tony as they sat side by side on the bed.

"Not brothers, brother. Julian never lets anyone else kill. He avoids it too, unless he thinks it's necessary. Has this idea that he has to protect us from damaging our souls or something."

 _Sounds familiar._ Clay thought, but didn't say it aloud.

Tony picked at the blanket. "He always protects us," he said, finally.

"How old are they?" Clay asked, curious.

"Josè is 19, Miguel is 23 and Julian is 26. And my sister Camila is 21. I think," he added as an afterthought. He shoved a large forkful of eggs in his mouth.

"Josè is the jokester, you can never get him to shut up. Miguel's a little quieter. He's a really great soccer player, we all think he's going to make it big someday. Julian acts exactly like our mother, always has, even when we were kids," Tony told him as he ate more eggs.

"These eggs are fucking good, what did you put in them?"

Clay turned to Tony blankly "...eggs."

They were plain eggs, Clay having not been able to even find the salt. He watched Tony eat ravenously.

"Tony, how long since you last ate?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know, like, Tuesday or something," he frowned at Clay's expression."What day is it?"

"Jesus Tony, it's Saturday."

"Oh." Tony avoided Clay's concerned gaze.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony! Whatever happened to "first we eat, then we do everything else"? Or was that just for Clay?


	5. Starless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay and Tony struggle with the aftermath.

Clay spent the next few hours in his bedroom with Tony, mainly making food and trying to force the other to eat it. He was somewhat successful, managing to get Tony to at least swallow down half a can of chicken noodle soup. They binge watched Netflix, which Tony didn't have at home (who doesn't have Netflix?) and who it seemed to enthral. Clay didn't dare ask him about the events of yesterday night yet, he found that he didn't want to know the details, anyway.

At six-o-clock in the evening, Josè, Miguel and Julian dropped by with a backpack of clothes and other stuff from Tony's room. They also brought a large pepperoni pizza and a few sodas.

"White boy!" Josè exclaimed happily as Clay opened the door. "This your house?"

"Well, my parents are gone for a few days, so sure," Clay told him as he let them in.

They took the pizza up to Clay's room with his permission, since he really didn't see Tony going anywhere.

Tony's face brightened when he saw his brothers, and they started eating the pizza, chatting comfortably. Julian sat on Clay's desk next to the pizza box, Miguel on the chair, and Josè was propped against the bedside table.Clay sat on the bed next to Tony, chewing the deliciously hot cheese and dough combination. Clay noticed that all of Tony's brother sported bruised knuckles and various cuts, but they were cheerful as ever.

"What did you guys do to Marco?" Tony asked Josè.

"Oh it was fun. So first, Julian took his knife and-"

The rest of the conversation Clay could not hear, as Josè had leaned over and started whispering, hand cupped around Tony's ear. Tony's eyes grew very wide and his gaze found his oldest brothers face, whose expression remained unreadable.

"Enough of that," Julian said harshly, giving Josè a sharp look. Josè just shrugged, ruffling Tony's hair playfully until he was batted away.

"So, white boy! How long have you two been dating?" Josè asked, electing to bother Clay instead. Clay froze, cheeks reddening.

"We aren't, asshole," Tony muttered between bites of food.

"Oh, you aren't? Well then, I guess he's fair game, right?" Josè changed his position perched on the table to lean in very close, smiling at Clay, brown eyes twinkling in the morning sunlight. Clay felt his blush deepen at the sudden, focused gaze.

"Por favour, déjalo solo carajo," Tony spoke to his brother, voice unexpectedly sharp. Clay looked up to see his friend glaring angrily at Josè.

"Hey c'mon, baby bro, I was just teasing. I'd never give up my lovely Isabella." Josè raised his hands in the air in a non-confrontational manner, winking at his brother while he backed away and laughing loudly.

Julian was also obviously amused, and sported a shit-eating grin as all three of Tony's brothers started talking to each other in Spanish.

Clay didn't understand what they were saying, and if Tony had any reaction to their conversation, it didn't show on his face as he turned away from them and started skilfully dealing a deck of cards.

 

* * *

 

Tony's brothers left around six-o-clock, leaving the house back again to Clay and Tony. They lay there, watching f.r.i.e.n.d.s until Tony stumbled out of bed to wash up before going to sleep. After both of them had used the shower and changed into fresh clothes, they stayed in the bathroom for a while, as Tony messed around with his hair and Clay brushed his teeth. It all felt oddly...domestic.

"I've never seen your hair like that," Clay commented as he glanced over at Tony yet again. The bruises on his face had darkened, and he was examining them in the mirror with a benign indifference.  
"What, wet?" Tony murmured, not looking up from his examination.

"No, curly," Clay corrected as Tony pulled out a razor and cream from his bag and started shaving.

"Oh yeah, I guess you haven't," Tony paused, catching Clay's eye in the mirror.

"Do you like it?" He asked, smiling now.

Clay really did. The shiny black curls fell in little waves on the sides of Tony's temples, rather long in the front, but cleanly cut in the back, and the whole thing looked...rather adorable.

"Yeah!" Clay snapped out of his contemplation to hastily reply. He hoped Tony wouldn't notice his pause, but luckily the other boy just smiled again quickly, looking satisfied.

They finished up in Clay's bathroom and headed back down the hall to his room. Clay had changed the sheets twice because of Tony's bloodstains, but he didn't mind, really.

"Here, I'll get more blankets," Clay said as Tony sat down on the bed, a little too tired in proportion to the small amount of walking that had been required,

He grabbed some of the more comfortable ones from the laundry room and headed back into his room. Tony was laying on his side, examining one of Clay's rubics cubes.

"Okay, if you need water, it's over there, and pills are in the first drawer," Clay told his friend, pointing. He started unrolling his sleeping bag on the ground.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked him.

Clay gave him a bewildered stare."Unrolling a sleeping bag."

"No, I mean I'm fine with- you can-" Clay waited while Tony struggled with his words. It was such an unusual sight, that Clay nearly laughed. He didn't though, to spare his friend embarrassment.

Tony took a breath, frustrated with himself. "You can sleep next to me," he gestured to Clay's bed, and when Clay looked dubious, he said, "Really, come on."

"Are you sure you don't need the space? I don't want to hurt you by accident," Clay asked him.

"Don't be crazy, Clay. I'll be fine," the darker haired boy affirmed. He didn't like the thought of making Clay sleep on the ground anyway.

Tony settled into bed slowly, pulling the blankets over his hips, then looked at Clay.

"Come here," he ordered him, and Clay found himself obliging without much thought, turning off the lights and sliding in next to the other. He could feel the heat of Tony beside him. They listened to each other's breathing for a while as the silence between them grew deeper, meaningful.

Tony was the one to break it.

"Where I grew up, we could always see the stars out at night. Millions of them. Can't see that here, though. It's like this place sucks them right out of the sky." He glanced out of the window at the black night. The shitty town with its shitty memories. It seemed just fitting that you couldn't see the anything clearly here.

"I think you can see them from some parts of town," Clay murmured softly.

"But where did you grow up? I thought you lived here your whole life," he looked over, confused. He'd thought that, anyway. 

"No, I was born in the Bronx, and we moved here when I was seven." Tony smiled slightly at the memory of his childhood.

"Light pollution," Clay smiled too, he couldn't help it. He didn't know that Tony liked the stars. But then, he should have known, shouldn't he? Tony had stars tattooed behind his ear, Clay remembered, and he realized for all the time he'd spent at Tony's side, he had never once bothered to ask these things, and never once was told.

He remembered the time when he and Hannah had stayed out late to watch the sky. A summer night, when life was easier. He hadn't thought about the stars since then. Not until today, at least.

"But they're still there. Aren't they? You just can't see them sometimes," Tony continued, musing. Clay looked over at his friend in the darkness, because in ten years, he had never met this side of Tony.

"Yeah, they are." Something warm crept over Clay as he watched Tony stare out of his window.

"Yesterday- when you covered me, I- thanks, Clay. I was scared. I thought you got hurt." Tony spoke softly, like his fear was a secret.

"You will do it, right? I mean... keep yourself safe. I thought you were going to jump of that cliff. Remember? All those weeks ago," the shorter boy confesses. "You weren't alright, even now sometimes is see you, and you look-" but here, Clay had to cut him off, because Tony was talking about Clay again, worrying about Clay, when it was him who lay there with broken bones and bruises and cuts and who knew what else was broken beneath those clear hazel eyes, and Clay couldn't keep himself from getting emotional.

"-You're not alright either, Tony. Stop acting like you are." His words stopped Tony in his tracks, as Clay felt his eyes start to water.

"I won't let you do that to yourself again," Clay whispered finally, and Tony heard so much raw emotion in the other boy's voice that he couldn't say anything back, just nodded slowly.

"Together, we'll live, Tony. Just like Hannah wanted," Clay told him, his shaking voice blending in with the sounds of crickets from the streets outdoors.

"Just like Hannah wanted," Tony repeated carefully, comforted by Clay's presence beside him and drifting slowly into the blackness.

 

* * *

 

Clay lay for a very long time next to Tony, staring at his face, which looked so much younger and peaceful with his eyes closed. Clay had never seen Tony sleep before, never watched him as he did now. The features were relaxed, soft lips slightly parted and eyelashes dark like coal. Beautiful, Clay thought.

He leaned over slowly, and without thinking, pressed his lips to Tony's cheek. The kiss was sweet, painfully brief. He felt the slight stubble of Tony's face, smelled his aftershave, and then in seconds, Clay was on the other side of his bed again, the stolen kiss fresh on his lips.

"...Clay?"

Clay froze, horrorstruck. He didn't know what to do except lay there soundlessly. _Fuck you, what a dumbass! Moron!_ he screamed at himself internally.

He heard Tony move, shuffling the sheets. _He's leaving,_ Clay thought.

Clay felt the sharp pang of heartbreak unexpectedly. It hurt, man, it hurt his chest, and if anyone ever doubted the physical pain emotion could bring, they were obviously people who'd never been in love.

 _Love?_ And Clay was hit with yet another painful realization. _Fuck._ He imagined the future clearly. Tony, occupying his mind every minute of every day. Tony, rejecting him and leaving Clay hopelessly alone, because he realized that he didn't have to stick around this pathetic, weak Clay. Tony didn't have to waste his life looking after Clay and his problems. He was too good for Clay. Even injured, he was too passionate, too cool, too beautiful.

The dark haired boy was going to speak again anytime soon, he was going to tell Clay that it was a mistake. He would thank him graciously, but say that he had to leave. That he'd see him around. Clay closed his eyes and waited for the blow, heart hammering.

It didn't come.

What did come was Tony's quiet breaths as he struggled to move without hurting his broken ribs, and the gentle movement of weight on Clay's mattress.

Tony was very close to him now, seemed to be thinking something through carefully as his green eyes met Clay's blue ones. A moment passed, where Clay's insides churned deafeningly in fear of rejection...Then Tony was kissing him hesitantly, warm lips on his. It was so, so soft. So incredibly light. Almost innocent. One of Tony's hands crawled up to stroke through Clay's hair. Black curls brushed Clay's forehead as he tasted the other boy. Tony tasted like toothpaste, and something sweet and addictive.

They broke away from each other, panting for air. Clay stared up at the ceiling. At his Joy Division posters. That awful day the tapes started, he and Tony had sat in Tony's mustang together, listening to the group. He was suprised to find that he remembered the song. _Love Will Tear Us Apart._

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the night, only listened to the faint sounds of the crickets and of the rise and fall of breath, until Clay, and then Tony both drifted into unconsciousness.

_But love, love will tear us apart again.  
_

_Love, love will tear us apart again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. *Nods* Yes. *Nods* This song is foreshadowing. *Screams*


	6. The shame, the prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was leaning against the red painted doors as if they were the only thing supporting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: sexual content, mentions of guns, emotional trauma  
> Hi guys. Please refer to chapter five author's notes for my apology on deleting this chapter. Much love.

_October 23, 2017_

When Clay woke up, he was alone. The alarm clock blared loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Clay looked over at it and noticed the folded paper positioned intentionally on top of it, knowing instinctively it was from Tony, who must have also set his alarm. It's Monday. **Go to school** , the note read, in neat cursive letters.

At least Clay knew the answer to that puzzle. His oldest brother- then it must've been Julian- had taught Tony how to write when he was a child. Since Julian had always wanted to write in cursive but had never learned, he had taught his youngest brother the slanting, curved letters as soon as possible.

Clay clambered out of his bed to peer out of the window, but the car was gone, as he knew it would be. Trying not to think about the previous night, he got ready for school, packed his bag, and took the bus. Tony wasn't at school, but Clay had doubted he would be anyway.

He clambered through the day as usual too, unable to keep Tony out of his mind. It was just as he thought it would be. Painful. Like a part of the dark haired boy had taken root inside Clay's own head, distracting him from everything else. When he was writing a paper in Communications class, there was Tony, warm lips whispering over his ear. When he was trying to study, Tony's slight smile blocked out the numbers.  
Clay had started a sick sort of trivia in his mind, testing himself on how much of Tony Padilla he knew, revelling when he knew the answer to one of Tony's habits or dispositions, and sulking when he didn't. At night, he slept where Tony had slept, finding comfort in the faint scent that the other boy had left behind, and justifying it to himself with the fact that it calmed him. It was true; he had fewer nightmares.

In the wake of Tony's absence, Clay suddenly found himself burdened with the kind of loneliness that tended to eat you up and follow you home, like a disease growing in your chest. He wondered if this was the feeling Hannah had described.

Nighttime was the worst, when the darkened room reminded Clay of that night, and when he couldn't stop himself from satisfying his burning needs, the image of tanned skin and black hair stained into his retinas. He didn't call him, knew that Tony needed space to recover, and truthfully, Clay was scared that contacting the other at this time would only drive him away. This, Clay thought he knew about Tony, at least.

 

* * *

  
    
It was a full week before he saw Tony again, bruises faded slightly, and walking slowly through the halls. His hair was styled back into its usual slicked appearance, and he wore his leather jacket over a grey crewneck. They walked towards each other without thinking.

''Hey, Clay." The usual greeting, the usual half smile.

"Uh, hey, Tony. How is everything?"

Clay squinted at Tony in the dimmed hallway light. He seemed better, at least, standing straight and tall (for his height, anyway), albeit walking a bit slow. He always did seem to make such an entrance when he entered the school. Clay hadn't really thought about it until now, but anytime Tony would enter the doors, there would be a few students stepping aside, allowing a path. And in the middle of it, Tony. Always walking straight towards him. Ridiculously, it was almost like he was a key character in Clay's life story.

Anyone other than Clay might not notice the slight dark circles that blended in with the healing bruises, and the faintest hesitation in his greeting. But a stranger wouldn't have been able to tell anyway, thought Clay, and barring himself, Tony was not close to anyone else. He had memorized Tony's face in the past week. The eyes were familiar not only in real life now, but from the endless dreams that piggybacked Clay wherever he went.

"I'm good, thanks, Clay." Radio silence followed Tony's reply.

There was a tension in the air that felt distinctly unpalatable to Clay. He shifted awkwardly, the nagging worry in his gut growing stronger. What had he hoped for, anyway? What had he expected? Just because they had kissed, didn't mean Tony felt anything for him, had any inclination at all towards him. _He's probably kissed tons of guys_ , a darker, forbidden voice whispered.

"That's good," Clay replied, to break the silence.

"I uh, forgot to say thanks. For everything," Tony told him, and Clay's stomach dropped as he simply nodded, because he knew what would happen next. Tony was going to walk away.

"Tony"- Clay had to try, at least. Stop Tony from leaving.  
Tony looked at him, a searing, searching glance, and Clay was sure that other could see right through his head, right into his skull, see the way Clay had touched himself, hear his own name on Clay's lips.

_Please don't go._

Tony just shook his head a little and walked away, boots stepping softly, and leaving Clay standing in the hallway alone, with his insides sinking as if an iron ball had been chained to them.  
 

* * *

  
They saw each other again the next day, in French, then in Physics, but Tony neither mentioned the kiss or gave any kind of nonverbal cues to the fact that it had happened. Clay wanted to touch Tony again, kiss him harder this time, but Tony seemed pale and detached, rarely seen in the hallways between classes and usually opted to spend the lunch hour in his car listening to music. And while he never expressly seemed to avoid Clay, he didn't seem to be present, mind stuck in a different place. Clay's eyes would sometimes linger a little too long on the other boy, and he was terrified he'd be caught staring.

At home, Clay's mind was overrun with thoughts. _When_ _had_ _this_ _all_ _started?_   _Why_   _hadn't he realized?_ And how, _how_ , did he find himself now, stuck like a fly in honey. The more he contemplated, the more he uncovered. The feelings he had for Tony now were not sudden, but very old, carefully cultivated growths. They had known each other for most of their lives, and nobody had ever cared about Clay like Tony had, no one had ever chased Clay to make sure, very sure, that he was okay.

Clay had been an only child, and it had been lonely sometimes, with only his parents for company. He couldn't remember feeling lonely after he had met Tony, and where Hannah's light had seemed to shine on Clay so sweetly and blindingly bright, Tony's unyielding warmth and heat had been a constant presence he had been too stupid to appreciate. Not until it was gone, at least.

Sometimes, he was met with more brief and sudden flashes from their childhood. Clay had been a scrawny, shy and very sheltered kid. It had taken the other a lot of effort to coax him out of his shell. Clay remembered feeling the unfamiliar warmth the first time Tony had hugged him, all those years ago, as kids. He had been crying then, when the other boy had approached him, just as he was crying now, face buried into his pillow. Clay pictured the darker child as he had remembered him, all smiles and youthful exuberance. Pulling Clay along to karate tournaments, soccer games and to watch the cars being worked on in the shop.

He saw none of that happiness on Tony's face now, not when he smiled briefly, or even when he laughed. There was a darker undertone of misery beneath his presence. They had all suffered too much, grown up too quickly.  
   
It hurt in a strange way to be around Tony now, watching his dark face, which more often than not was turned down in a quiet, detached sort of contemplation. Clay rather thought he was avoiding something, or someone. Nevertheless, they continued this silence infused life, a semblance of normality for what seemed like ages to Clay. He became well acquainted with the top of Tony's hair, at least. In fact, it was only a month and a half later that the silence was interrupted, a sunny Tuesday after school in the Padilla's garage.

 

* * *

_December 5, 2017_

The visible bruises on Tony's face had healed completely, and although he was careful with his still sensitive ribs, he was working on his mustang, the long sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up, and his hands deep into the front engine. Clay was attempting to fix a jammed gear on his bike - he had only realized the day after Tony had left his house that it was still stashed in the bushes, but luckily he had concealed it well enough that it had not been stolen- and was getting more and more frustrated as he tried to turn the gear, which did not seem to want to move. He huffed softly in annoyance, wiping his brow.

"No, here." Suddenly, Tony was behind him, right hand holding a different wrench, his fingers brushing Clay's accidentally as he turned a bolt skillfully.

"You uh, had the wrong size," he muttered.

Clay wasn't sure what did it, all he knew was that he couldn't help himself. Maybe it was the closeness of Tony, lips practically whispering into his ear, or maybe it was because Tony's eyes met his own properly for the first time in weeks. Maybe it was simply the way that Clay had been thinking about Tony, ever since they had kissed on that dark, starless night in his bedroom. Clay turned around to fully face the other boy, straightening up, and Tony looked at him steadily, as though he had completely forgotten about the wrench he was holding in his outstretched hand.

There was another tense silence, and Clay knew he shouldn't, but he had to take the chance, had to try just one more time, and stepping forwards to bridge the small gap in between them, he leaned over to press his lips against Tony's softly. He could feel Tony, frozen, every muscle in his body taut, and for a moment Clay was terrified that he had screwed up very badly this time.

But then, it was bliss, and Tony was kissing him back, and it was more passionately yet more gently than Clay had ever been kissed before. One hand came to rest tentatively on Clay's neck as Clay daringly brushed his tongue past Tony's bottom lip, tasting the irresistible sweetness again. Clay pushed the other back towards the car, felt a thrill of fire streak down his body as the wrench Tony had been holding clattered loudly to the ground.

The soft sound of their bodies hitting something solid made him realize he was pressed against Tony now, only supported by Tony's car behind them. He pressed himself desperately against Tony, almost losing his breath when he felt another hardness pressing hot and solidly against his own erection.

The shorter boy adjusted his position slightly, and accidentally moved against Clay, causing him to realize it as well, to gasp out a barely perceptible moan of surprise.They moved against each other again, and Clay was melting in satisfaction because they were kissing, and he had been wanted this so badly, for so long. He could smell Tony (motor oil and spicy, woody cologne), and the friction was so fucking  _good_ , and-

-and suddenly, Clay was alone, the excruciatingly heady sensations gone. He opened his eyes to see nothing, Tony was nowhere in sight. What the fuck? He was sure he hadn't screwed up, wasn't he? Then he heard a noise that didn't belong with the rest of the mechanical hums of the garage. The sound of rapid, frantic breathing coming from the other side of the car.

Clay walked around it quickly, a growing unease twisting his gut, only to find Tony on the other side. He was leaning against the red painted doors as if they were the only thing supporting him. The blood was drained from his face and he seemed to be struggling to remain conscious. Cold sweat coated his hands as he gripped the side of his car frantically, grasping for something solid to hold onto.

Clay didn't need to ask to know that he was suffering a panic attack. He had endured enough of them himself to understand the telltale breathing pattern, but he had never seen anything even remotely as intense as this. Tony met his eyes with the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"Go," Tony grunted out between gasps, pain seeping into his words as his ribs began to act up, causing every shallow breath to burn.

"Tony, I"- Clay was taken aback, his gut twisting in discomfort. He had never seen his friend like this- like some kind of wounded animal, the suffering plain on his face.

"Leave me alone," Tony spat at him, glaring now through the haze of pain and panic. Clay was reminded painfully of the night at Jessica's party, with Hannah, so many months ago, it seemed.

"I'm not leaving," Clay stated, remembering how that night had ended.

Tony pushed Clay's worried hand away roughly, and stared him down as harshly as he could.

"Get the _fuck_ out of my house," he told Clay dead seriously, as his chest burned painfully and his vision swam. 

Clay had to remember that Tony wasn't Hannah Baker, and that he should leave now before one of them got hurt.

Clay knew anger and confusion was clearly visible on his own pale face, but he did what he was told because Tony had left no room for argument with that much unsteadiness in his voice. He grabbed his bike and jogged out of the garage, eyes watering traitoriously.

 

* * *

 

Clay hadn't even left the Padilla's driveway when he bumped hard into somebody's chest.

"Sorry," he said quickly as he backed off, forcing speech, but cursing internally when he could hear the audible tremor in his own voice.

"What's wrong, kid?" The voice asked, and looking up, Clay realized that it was Julian who was talking to him, holding a bag of groceries in one arm.

"Tony"- Clay tried to say, but his throat was too dry. Julian seemed to understand anyway, looking at him solemnly.

"Give it time, Clay. You guys have been through a lot, from what I hear," he advised, hiking up the bag, which had slipped momentarily.

"Yeah, I guess," Clay tried back, although truthfully, he wasn't really sure at all.

"You were right, Julian...I...I love him," Clay admitted to the man, meeting Julian's eyes shakily.

"But he's so hurt, I don't think, I don't know"- again, Clay couldn't continue, every word getting stuck in his throat. He was making himself look like a damn fool, he knew.

"Tony's- well he's not someone who likes doing too many things for himself. It's hard for him to act on his feelings if he doesn't think he deserves it," Julian concluded, smiling rather sadly at Clay as he thought about his brother.

When Clay didn't reply, and just stared blankly at him, he added some more. "Sleep it off, Clay, talk to him in the morning, alright?"

"Alright," Clay mumbled, lifting a leg over his bicycle.

"Thanks, Julian."

"No problema, kid. See you around," the older Padilla instructed, squinting at the slim, pale figure as he left.  
 

* * *

Tony watched Clay wheel his bike out of the garage as his heart sank, but he had to focus on more important matters right now. Breathing. He needed air, but he couldn't get up, he was too dizzy, so he just sat there with his back pressed against his car, and still half hard against his stomach.The tears came out of nowhere, drowning his face in hot, salty water, and Tony wondered when he had become so weak, so helpless.

Shivering on the ground, he tried not to think, because any amount of thought would bring him back to that hellhole place of Marco's. The memories reminded him of something he had avoided thinking about too closely for a very long time. Tony didn't want to admit to himself that he was tainted, didn't want to touch the initials carved into his thighs and back that told him plainly he was not worth Clay Jensen, did not deserve that one, pure thing in the world. Tony was not a good person, there was no possible way he could be. He had hurt people, sometimes purposely and sometimes not. _Jesus,_ he'd caused Alex Standall to take a gun and shoot himself in the fucking head. He knew wasn't innocent, and up until this point, he had even accepted it. His body was dirty from months of abuse from Marco, from all of Marco's friends. It was grime that was caked onto his skin, permanent and unwashable. No matter how raw and red he scrubbed until, he'd never be clean.To have...what? To love Clay? He let out a painful sort of laugh at the thought. There would not be a single thing in Tony's mind that Clay could approve of.

He had tried to remain distant, to brush off the kiss because Tony would not take himself, fucked up as he was, and mar anyone else with it, let alone Clay. It had been too good, too blissful, as they leaned against the car, as they kissed until he could remember what he was doing, and why he shouldn't.

He had to let out an audible gasp then, because _fuck_ , it hurt, sitting there, ribs aching and his vision blurry. He felt a pounding in his ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the garage lights as he fought not to pass out. But he stayed conscious, arms wrapped around his knees, and cried, quiet sobs echoing against the walls.

Because he couldn't forget that he'd loved Clay Jensen for as long as he could remember.

Tony heard the garage door open suddenly, footsteps. Too  
quick and light to be his father. It was Julian. His brother peered at him from around the other side of the car, and Tony knew he must look little more than a mess. He wiped his face quickly.

"Hey," he choked out.

Julian just looked at him carefully for a very long time. Then, wordlessly, he settled down beside Tony and hugged him tightly.  
"He told me he loves you, you know?" Julian's voice was calm despite Tony's lingering panic.

"He shouldn't," was all Tony could mutter back, eyes bloodshot from tears.   
 

* * *

   
Tyler placed the fake panel of his trunk down again. It had taken him ages of thinking, careful planning, but he had decided. He had gathered information on all of them, the people on his list, written it all down in his small, scrawling handwriting. All of the faces, the places where they would be, classes. Classes. School seemed like such a far away concept to him now. They would pay. There were only nine of them left at Liberty High, but nine was enough.  
Closing his eyes, he scrunched up his face and recalled the list once again. _Sheri Holland, Montgomery Delacruz, Jessica Davis, Zach Dempsey, Ryan Shaver, Courtney_ _Crimsen, Justin Foley, Marcus Cole and Clay Jensen_.The whirl of classes, timetables and room numbers whizzed through his head, but he had a photographic memory. He would remember all the names. But especially, he would remember _Clay Jensen_.

The gun felt cool in his hand, it spoke to him. It wanted revenge, and Tyler agreed with it, running his fingers over the black metal softly. He needed it. No more listening to his mother's quiet pleas in court, no more being treated like dog shit stuck on the bottom of someone's shoes.

Even when they were all guilty, he had never stopped being singled out. Now, he would single them out. Tyler looked in the bathroom mirror, maybe for the last time, at the mess of brown curls, the hooded eyes. There were dark circles now, too. He hadn't slept in days. It was okay, though. Soon, he would have his justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the 4th wall break?  
> Well I tried, at least.


	7. The Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is about all the students in this fucking piece of shit school, that treat others like they aren't human."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of guns, physical violence, emotional trauma

_April 25, 2018_

Clay settles himself down onto the side of the cliff with a grunt of pain. He's still weak and sore from the beating - it's a miracle he's even made it here on his bike. He stares down at the faint city lights.

It's all wrong. They didn't deserve this. He feels something for the first time in weeks, and anger surges into his chest so that he digs his hands into the dirt below him. He's sitting in Tony's private space, the sacred patch of road overlooking the drop below.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt," he screams into the night air. The words rip from his throat. But again, there's no calm reply. He's alone save the faintest echo of his own voice flung back at him from the abyss below...

_I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you,_

Warm skin and the smell of gasoline, leather

Tony.

_Take me back to the night we met._

_I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you,_

Wide eyes, tears

Hannah. But she's only a familiar ache now, drowned under Tony's black hair and honest gaze.

 _Oh, take me back to the night we met_.

He thinks very selfishly that he doesn't have either.

 

* * *

 

_December 5, 2017_

"Get the fuck out of my house," Tony told him.

Clay had never seen Tony like that before - unraveled, calm composure completely broken. Truth be told, he was scared to see Tony again. Perhaps it had something to do with the tiny, nagging speck of guilt, the one that told him it was his fault, that he should just stay away from the other boy. He didn't know whether to push it down or follow it, so he just tried to ignore it, turning the volume up on his headphones to an eardrum damaging level.

His hands were still shaking from adrenaline brought on hours ago, and he found that his playlists seemed to infected by Tony. Older songs that Tony usually played while driving popped into his earphones unexpectedly, but he tried not to think about them too much as he hastily switched the music. Still, sleep was a long time coming, and his dreams were confused and littered with the visions of the darker haired boy, leaning against his car and taking heaving, painful breaths.

  _Clay and Tony were at the cliff again, standing at the top of an incredible drop, twenty five metres above the cold, compressed soil of the hill._

_"Tony, help me." Clay's voice was shaky. He was standing on the edge of the rock, staring down into the darkness.  
Tony hesitated and wordlessly reached out a helping hand, seemingly intending to grab Clay's - pull him back into solid ground._

_Clay moved quickly. As soon as he felt the warm fingertips enclose around his own, he pulled, hard._

_Tony stumbled. Clay watched, sneering as Tony lost his balance._

_The flowing black hair twisted from the inertia of the movement. Clay watched as the other boy tipped over the edge, plummeted to the rocky floor._

_Tony's eyes were wide and found Clay's as he fell. His body buckled violently when it hit the ground._

Clay woke up with a start, sweating profusely while guilt twisted in his gut.

 

* * *

 

_December 6, 2017_

Tyler zipped up the duffel bag. It was full, heavy, but he often brought his bulky camera equipment to school. His mother wouldn't notice the difference. He looked at his camera sitting quietly on his desk. He had carefully cleaned it just the day before. The maintenance and meticulous upkeep of that camera had been his life since the start of high school. He wished he could take pictures of today...But they wouldn't need pictures, would they? No, they would remember the scenes, the blood, for decades, and they would never forget him. He wondered how it had gotten this far, how it had become this desperate. The were always against him; even now, they had not stopped blaming him. Everyone was against him. He guessed that he had finally accepted that it was something that would never change.

The car ride felt like an eternity. Tyler drowned out his mother's chattering words. Red light. Green light. Red lights again. When the silver Honda stopped in the school parking lot, Tyler made a move to get out.

"Wait, Tyler. Why such a rush?" His mother smiled as she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. She was trying to be happy for him, he knew it. That careful mask she had put on ever since the trials had started. Just another day of pretending. He kissed her back and slammed the car door.

He'd read a lot about how to do it, how others had done it. He had to set up first, gather his plan once more. Make sure his targets had actually come to school today, although he was certain they would all be present. He glanced his reflection in the glass pane of the side entrance door. Skinny, pale, and scared. Brushing it aside, he pushed open the door. The warm Californian winter air graced his skin for the last time as he stepped into the darker, musty hallway odour of Liberty High. He started walking through the halls to his place of refuge. It was early, and there were only a few students milling about in the halls. He felt like their eyes followed him as he pushed the photography studio door open. There would be nobody inside here though, there hardly ever was anyway.

Tyler laid out the guns in the centre of the room. He would have hidden them in a more sheltered spot, but fear was a feeling that he couldn't register anymore, though it covered his body like a shroud. Two pistols, both bought from shady men in alleyways. One assault rifle, pilfered from his dad's hunting collection. He'd had to YouTube videos on how to use them.

His hands were too sweaty to grip the metal carefully. He swore, trying to wipe them dry on his thin jean-clad legs. They wouldn't dry off, even as he scrunched up the cool cotton of his t-shirt in his hands. Cursing some more, he stood up and left the studio, locking it behind him. He headed into to the bathroom, intent of steadying himself with the cool flow of water...but there was already somebody there.

"Oh. Hey," Tyler started, because he had to say _something_.Tony Padilla was staring back at him as though he'd never seen him before.

"Tyler. Jeez, you look like shit," the shorter boy told him offhandedly. Tyler hesitated. He shouldn't even be talking to Tony. He was wasting time, he knew it, but he decided that maybe just a few minutes would be okay.

"You could say the same for yourself." Tyler offered quietly. He walked over and rinsed the sweat off of his hands clumsily as he looked at Tony. He too, had dark circles lining his eyes, and although he hid behind the leather of his jacket and ridiculously over-styled hair, there was a tiredness and deep sort of stress in his face that didn't usually show. Tyler thought himself good at reading people, and now, he could feel the tightly reined emotion emanating from the only other occupant of the washroom. Tony held himself differently too. He didn't stand straight backed and alert, as Tyler had usually noticed him to. His posture was relaxed, and somehow, defeated.

Tyler had never really talked to Tony before. Sure, during the tapes he had been followed (that fucking red car had been everywhere), but he hadn't had any real, genuine interactions with the other student. All he knew about Tony was that he didn't belong to any of the social groups, was never part of any kind of drama. In fact, if he hadn't known from the tapes, he wouldn't have thought Tony was a student at Liberty High. He seemed totally and completely himself. Confident in his identity. Tyler wondered briefly how that would feel. 

Tyler shuffled awkwardly. Damn it, why was he scared? Tony should be the one scared. But somehow, even through his messier-than-usual appearance, Tony seemed to exude a quiet sort of authority.

Tony looked at the other boy more closely. He knew the look in his eyes. It was the one you made before you did something very, very stupid.

"Tyler. What is it?" Tony's voice was sharper than it had been before. He moved closer to stare into Tyler's face, searching for some kind of truth under the matted curls.

"Hey, what's your problem man? Get the fuck away from me!" Tyler tried to shove the other out of the way and leave, but Tony was stronger than him.

"You...You're not going to kill yourself or something stupid like that, are you?" Tony asked, holding a hand out and feeling suddenly quite nauseous.

"Wha- no. I just-" Tyler stuttered, brought up short. He was trapped, pretty much, and he wished deeply that he had just brought a pistol into the bathroom with him. Blow Tony's overconfident head off for even daring to try and stop him.

There was a moment of silence, where Tony furrowed his brows and Tyler squirmed, searching desperately for a way out. Then Tony release his hand on Tyler's shirt and sighed, smoothing back a wave of stray hairs that had miraculously escaped the gel.

"I can help you, okay? Whatever it is, it isn't the end. To be truthful, I don't think I could stand any more death, alright?" Tony squinted at him, and Tyler didn't know how to respond. It was as if Tony had already known what he was planning to do, what was waiting on the floor of the photography studio.

"You know," Tony continued, "I could have stopped Hannah from killing herself. I saw her that day. But I didn't. And I have to live with that, we all do." Tyler could tell he wasn't being told this lightly. Tony spoke casually, but the words were ground out, a last resort sort of attempt.

"This isn't about fucking Hannah Baker. I don't give a shit about her. This is about all the students in this fucking piece of shit school, that treat others like they aren't human." Tyler spat out, his teeth clenched together.

Tony just looked at him. He had always been one to value privacy extremely highly, and listening to Tyler's tape had given him a rather low opinion of the skinny, tall photographer. However, as much as Tyler disgusted him, Tony couldn't disagree that he was generally treated like shit by the majority of the student body at Liberty High, maybe sometimes past the point of reasonable dislike.

"Listen, I know Montgomery and his friends are assholes, but"- Tony was cut off by Tyler's laugh. It was sudden and unprovoked, and it gave Tony chills that travelled down his spine.

"And what about Clay Jensen, huh? Tell me why I shouldn't blow his fucking brains out, Tony." Tony stiffened at his words, face twisting as he finally understood the entire picture. He turned to stare Tyler full in the face while his mind was spun in a whirl of thoughts, processing Tyler's pale figure before him. He envisioned Clay, blue eyes wide, unseeing, and felt a shiver of rage enter his mind before he wrestled it back into the back of his head. School shooting. Tyler wanted to shoot up the school.

Tony felt very sick, nausea threatening to overwhelm him now, but he pushed it down as well. If he had to throw up, Tyler would get away. And he was not letting Tyler leave the bathroom now; both of them knew it.

Tyler started forwards again, tried to heave his way past, but Tony, although shorter, was far stronger than him. He was more muscular, been in more fights, and he'd grown up on the rougher side of town. They struggled for a few seconds, then Tyler felt his back being slammed against the bathroom stall, Tony's hand clenched against his chest. Tyler could feel the metal indent of a ring press into his breastbone. 

"So you're what, going to shoot up the school or something?" Tony ventured, as if Tyler's attempt at escape had not happened. He was looking at Tyler with an expression of disbelief etched onto his face.

"What if I am?" Tyler sneered. He spat in Tony's face, but Tony just wiped it off his cheek calmly with one hand, the other twisted into the front of Tyler's shirt.

"I wouldn't let you," he replied coolly, holding Tyler down again as he struggled to break free. 

"What Clay did was cruel, okay? Even I'll admit that. But if you hurt him, I'll kill you." It was perfectly true, of course. Tyler could not read any kind of insincerity in the hazel eyes that stared back at his. What kind of friendship held that much loyalty? Tyler couldn't comprehend it. All he could ever remember was being hated.

"It doesn't matter," Tyler choked out, feeling the tears being to flow. _Fuck, how pathetic_. He was going to cry now.

"I want to die anyway. Might as well do right by me before I kill myself," he admitted, tears streaming down his face in rivers. Tony let him snivel for a few minutes, holding him against the stall roughly.

"I can help you, Tyler. I'll make sure they never fuck with you again, okay? I'll get you help. You have parents, right? Do you really want to hurt them like that?" Tony's voice was far from gentle, but there was an understanding in it that was so completely foreign to Tyler. Tyler just shook his head numbly in answer to the question. It was so much easier to just go with the flow, agree with Tony's commanding voice. The honesty in his tone was so pure, and so tempting.

And at least finally, somebody could acknowledge his pain.

There was a deep, meek and shy part of him that hadn't wanted to do it, anyway. It was the child Tyler, the one that was good, and kind, and loved people. And it was like Tony spoke directly to that child, causing it to grow stronger and stronger.

Maybe...Maybe it wasn't over yet.

"You can't throw away your life because of what other people have done to you," Tony continued. He paused, seeming to absorb his own words. "I think we have that in common, Tyler," he said finally, looking away so that Tyler couldn't see his face.

"Plus," he added after a moment,"You're wearing a cardigan. Who the fuck shoots up a school wearing a cardigan?" Tony questioned, as though he was actually wondering. _Asshole_. Tyler didn't fail to notice that although Tony's tone had lightened, he was still holding him back tightly, seemingly wary of leaving him unattended for even a second.

 

* * *

 

Of course, the understanding followed Clay home very quickly. He didn't have to be a genius to know enough about the kinds of things that would trigger intense anxiety, and considering the recent unveiling of Tony's day-long disappearances, Clay thought it was obvious that he somehow had caused the other to flip out. By kissing him. Clay had caught the knowledge that it would be in very, very poor taste to try to talk to Tony about this. He didn't think he could handle that kind of intrusion into Tony's privacy, which the other boy seemed to prize so much. And finally, he didn't want to lose his friendship with Tony, though arguably it had already crumbled into the dust.

When Clay arrived at school the next day, he was met with a wall of flashing red and blue lights. Police cruisers covered the entire front entrance of Liberty High. As Clay walked closer, he saw more people. Officers were crowded around a certain point...was that a student? Somebody was being arrested. He ducked around the crowd, trying to figure out what it was, but he couldn't make out a definite face through the crowd of uniforms.

"Clay!" The voice was coming to him from behind a pillar, close to where he was standing. He turned, confused. Tony pulled him behind the section of wall. "Tony, what's going on?" Clay asked. Tony's face was tight, his mouth drawn into a straight line. He looked tense and nervous.

"Didn't you get my text?" He demanded, staring into Clay's face in a slightly accusatory manner. He eyes had dark shadows beneath them- it looked as if he hadn't slept. Clay felt another tendril of guilt wrap around his heart.

"I...no?" He pulled out his phone, searching. **Don't come to school today, I'm serious.**

"What is this? Why?" He asked, confused and (although he wouldn't admit to himself) a little bit afraid.Tony's restlessness transferred directly to him - as it always did - as though a wire was connected to both of them, making them share emotions.

"Let's go to my car," Tony decided, eyeing the mob of people warily. Clay found himself agreeing without too much hesitation - there was a note of urgency in Tony's voice that convinced him to comply completely.

"The person they're arresting is Tyler. He was planning to shoot up the school. I saw the guns," Tony listed off as Clay gaped at him.

"The school's in lockdown, you won't be able to get in anyway. The police are searching for more threats," he continued, trying to make sense of it all himself. Clay looked at him, shocked.

"Oh my god," was all Clay could say in reply. Tony wasn't done speaking though, he continued.

"I found him in the bathroom, figured out what he was planning to do. I thought he'd changed his mind, but when we left he started running for his guns. Luckily, some of the underclassmen had thought his bag looked suspicious when he brought it in, so the police were already there waiting for him," he droned off some more.

He started his car, and Clay didn't protest. They drove away, Tony pushing the speed limit.

"Where are we going?" Clay asked him, finally.

"Somewhere quiet," was all Tony replied. Clay watched the buildings swing by, and then the landscape as well. And after he was tired of watching those, he watched the boy beside him.

Tony. Of course it had to be Tony, who had watched him bleed and cry and hurt other people, but was still there, always waiting for him when the sun went down. Tony, who drove now with steel in his eyes, that impenetrable wall of defence built up again as quickly as it had come crumbling down the previous night. Tony, who'd been his oldest friend. Even as a child, Tony had been selfless. He understood now how Tony had known how to deal with Clay's little freakouts all those weeks ago. They were both pretty fucked up, he thought, lip curling of its own accord.

Tony took Clay to the cliff for the second time. It was his own personal spot of refuge, that high ledge where the air was thin, but he could still have a place to park his car. He had brought Brad to the space only once. Ryan of course, had never seen the place. Why was he comparing? Nevertheless, this was Clay's second time. But it was okay, because it was Clay. He trusted Clay completely.

"That shit's so fucked up, Tony...Imagine if it'd happened," Clay murmured quietly as they sat in the car. He looked at Tony's face, which was staring forwards wordlessly as he contemplated the city.

"Yeah. Pretty fucked up," Tony replied, and then he sighed, deep and so damn tired. He didn't want to think about what could of happened today. Who he could have lost.   
"Why does there have to be so much of it?" He didn't know what he was asking Clay about. Violence? Pain?

"The world's...Pretty shitty, man," Clay offered back. It was the best way he could describe it, anyway.

They sat in silence for some time, gazing at the assortment of buildings that looked so small from this height. Clay wanted to move his hand, grasp Tony's and tell him that no matter how bad life got, he would always be by his side. He didn't, though. Instead he opened his mouth...and immediately regretted it.

"About yesterday," Clay stated, and Tony flinched visibly, drawing back from him.

Wisely, Clay stopped speaking. It was a while before Tony replied.

"Please Clay. I will be your friend, I'll be there, I promise, but I can't be that," Tony didn't know where this was coming from, but it was true enough. The amalgamation of all of his fears admitted in one short little sentence. He was practically pleading, though his voice remained steady.

"But," Clay started, looking into his eyes,"I need you," he confessed,

"I lo"-

"Don't say it," Tony hissed sharply. 

"I can't give you what you want," he said again, and his voice sounded fragile now, like spun glass in the silence of the car. Clay knew it was a last ditch attempt. 

Wordlessly, Clay moved his hand to rest gently beside Tony's. Not holding it by a long shot, but touching all the same.

Tony just nodded slightly, exhausted completely both mentally and physically. 

"I...need time. To think," Tony offered weakly, choking back the lump in his throat. He found it difficult to look straight into those piercing blue eyes. They were full of a sincerity that was so incredibly focused on him that it made him slightly uncomfortable. He needed time to think. Clear his head.

It was half an hour before Tony shifted his hand away from Clay's, another half before he started the mustang's engine again. Clay simply let himself be driven home in silence. Tony didn't glance back as he sped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I don't like Tyler. I think he is weird, stalkerish and constantly self justifying. The fact that he released the pictures to everyone of Hannah and Courtney after Hannah rejects him lends to a certain level of immaturity and selfishness. However, I also think it was unfair that he was singled out, and Bryce- well Bryce was still treated fine. I mean obviously, he has some issues, but do think there was a certain level of suffering he had to deal with. When all of this is paired together-in my head- this is the turnout.
> 
> Thirteen reasons why is not a perfect show by far. There had been a lot of conversation about the topic of mental health and how the show 13 rw could been seen as something that promotes suicide, even glamorizes it. I have talked to many people about the show. Some people talk about the actors, some people talk about the characters. And some people talk about this very topic. 
> 
> What are your thoughts? On the plot? On the idea of romanticizing suicide? On the extremely young fan base (Selena Gomez)? On the graphic suicide scene? I would love to hear. 
> 
> Actually I had a thing written out about my personal opinion, but I can't find it right now. It will probably pop up in a later author's note.


	8. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay found himself laughing alongside the others without too much effort. It's worth it, he thought, because Tony looked so happy.

_December 6, 2017_

_“Sometimes a guy’s gotta deal with things on his own.”_

Clay said that to him when they were kids. And of course, Tony’d remembered it all these years. Seventh grade, bright eyed and loud, he found himself too often caught in that blue gaze. And childishly he thought, or maybe he’d hoped that the other boy’s glances at him had meant something. They hadn’t of course, and then the whirlwind of growing up and finding themselves hit them and Tony found it hard to be around Clay, felt himself becoming more distant from Clay in high school all the way up to the point where Hannah’s tapes fell onto his doorstep.

Tony had always liked Hannah Baker. She was like he’d said, a friend. She was someone who didn't mean any harm themselves but was forced to deal with all the shit life threw anyway. He ignored the little twinge of jealousy every time his eyes found Clay’s fixated on her because he knew he had no right, none at all, to disturb what they had. But then Hannah killed herself and Tony found himself with 13 tapes and exactly no idea what he was supposed to do.

The worst thing about a tragedy is the way life just keeps on going after it's happened. Your world is frozen in time, but people still walk on the streets outside, and buy coffee, and go to the movies. He listened to the tapes three times that night, and by the time he finished the third round his hands were fumbling and clammy, and he also knew what he had to be done. And so began the tapes, and Tony found himself following, sometimes threatening others to make sure Hannah’s wish was fulfilled. He could be intimidating when he needed to, and he had already earned a grudging sort of respect from jocks who never really tried to bother him. But it was tiring work. Guilty, too.

But most of all it was just lonely.

The first night he had to park his car outside of Clay’s house he had nearly caved and went inside, ridiculous notions of spilling everything to Clay dancing in his head. Tell him about the tapes and about everything else. Of course that couldn't happen.

They stood at the edge of a cliff and Clay was crying, face scrunched in ugly grief and Tony wasn't quite sure that if the other boy jumped off it he’d be able to catch him in time. But all Tony could do was hold on and push forwards and make sure what had to be done was done.

And now where were they at? He thought he’d erased the possibility of this situation months ago, the first time he went to Marco’s place, because he knew he could never let himself love Clay after that. And he hadn’t counted on Clay ever returning it anyway. The past few weeks again he avoided Clay, but he knew about everything now. Clay had seen him broken and low yet still didn't leave him like Tony asked. It was less of Clay’s innocence that Tony feared than his honesty. But then again, maybe the events of today made him reconsider.

Clay spent the rest of the afternoon listening to music, but after a couple of hours the instrumental hymns made him feel sick and he turned it off and listened to the silence instead. He didn’t want to lose Tony’s friendship - the fear was almost overwhelming in its reality. The truth was, he wanted Tony, needed him to just feel sane again. Feel the steady presence of Tony besides him like it’d been so many times before. Like it should be always. But where there used to be friendship there was something else now. A possibility? A question? … _The truth?_

 

* * *

 

_December 19, 2017_

They hung out, did the things they normally would, and the days stretched by slowly as if something was waiting, lurking in the shadows. Clay wanted an answer but the slightest brush of Tony’s fingertips against his own while they sat side by side in the library dissuaded him from asking. He didn’t want this dream to end.

One rainy day after school when the other boy would usually offer him a ride home to escape the rain, Tony took him wordlessly by the hand and led him into a secluded hallway at the back of the school. The shorter boy pressed him up against brick and kissed Clay until his knees went weak with it. Clay smiled ridiculously all through dinner.

_Of course, it was too good to be true._

* * *

 

In the few weeks that had passed since Tyler Down tried to shoot up the school, the atmosphere at Liberty High had changed. News got out quick. There were plenty of nervous jokes, and many _how fucked up is this school, man’s_ in the hallways. Clay didn’t pay much attention, and if Tony was bombarded with questions, he didn’t hear about it.

There was something charming and extremely raw to the kisses. Tony always took his time, proceeded slowly, carefully. Softly. One time, he had leaned over the centre divider of his car - and damn that was hot - to bring Clay in unexpected.They didn’t come daily but instead at random times, on good days, on bad days and at intervals in between. And Clay found...that they were the sweetest kisses he’d ever received, though he wouldn't say it out loud. There was no other indication of their change in relationship, no warning label to sew onto their jackets and display to the outside world. Clay didn't care, and he knew Tony preferred it that way, and….And he could touch Tony now, feel the warm beat of the his heart against his hands, and smell motor oil and something woody, spicy. They were still soft, light and careful when they moved against one another, partly because it was new and partly because Clay was very, very scared about causing Tony to panic again. Tony’d look at him deeply, but he’d always proceed slowly. But sometimes he’d brush his hands behind Clay’s neck and let Clay breathe into his hair, and Clay though he could live in those moments forever.

 

* * *

 

_December 30, 2017_

Though it felt longer, only two sun glazed Saturdays after Tyler Down’s arrest found Clay once again at the Padilla’s house. He wandered around the house, looking at baby pictures of Tony’s siblings and smiling fondly whenever he encountered one of Tony. It was sort of hard to tell, because they all looked similar as children, with big, wide eyes and black hair. The house was a little cluttered, but neat. Along with the picture frames, there were little statues and memorabilia in the corners, creating an attractive, yet unusual display.

José and Miguel were slung carelessly over the couch in their living room. It was a party of sorts, made up from an assortment of Tony’s cousins, family friends and a couple of people from school that Clay had never actually talked with, but knew from appearance. There were enough partygoers in the backyard to make standing difficult without feeling slightly claustrophobic, in any case. José had arrived with armfuls of food and alcohol just minutes before, and then had rushed inside, animatedly complaining of a crowd surging down on him “like vultures”. Clay sat down comfortably on the other side of Tony’s brothers, feeling stuffed and content, nodding absently to the loud music blaring from outside.

“Hey,” Julian groaned from the doorway at José and Miguel, “ these are your friends, why am I entertaining them?” He gestured towards the door leading into the backyard.

José threw a pillow at him in a good natured manner, but heaved himself up and wobbled a little tipsily towards his friends.

“It’s because you’re only good for entertainment,” Miguel shot at Julian, grinning and following José into the kitchen. Julian ruffled Clay’s hair playfully as he sat down next to him, stealing a few chips from his bowl.

“Hey Clay,” he greeted him warmly, shaking chips off his flannel and kicking the crumbs under the table.

“Hi Julian,” Clay replied, grinning. “Nice party.” Clay gestured to the backyard’s chaos.

Julian grinned, leaning back easily. “Yeah, it’s pretty wild out there. My brothers have some crazy friends.” He paused. “It’s lucky our parents are out, seriously. My dad would not be having this. What it’s like to be young,” he muttered amusedly, glancing at his brother’s antics.

“You’re not old,” Clay argued easily, pushing his shoulder slightly in friendly protest.

“I’m 26, practically ancient to this lot,” Julian smirked again.

“How’s Tony?” Clay asked hesitantly.

“He’s doing well, you know.” Julian brushed back his black hair, more serious expression gracing his features now.

“And this shit is seriously fucked, right? You’ve helped him so much though. Thank you, Clay. There’s a lot of things he hides from everyone, always tries to give people so much.” Julian paused. 

“He thinks he can give himself away and never get anything back, and it’ll be fine just like that.” He put his hand on his forehead and looked away.

“And I didn’t know how to help him,” he muttered, his voice becoming higher. "I still don't. And he's my baby brother." He bit his lip, grinding his teeth repeatedly. It reminded Clay shockingly of Tony.

_How similar they were, the oldest and the youngest Padillas._

“I just let him be hurt,” Julian wiped his face on his sleeve. He avoided Clay’s eyes as he spoke. 

“You did everything you could, Julian,” Clay smiled, a little sadly. “Just one day at a time, right?”

Julian nodded wordlessly. 

Clay glimpsed Tony surrounded by a group of laughing cousins, enthusiastically describing something in rapid Spanish. For once, his brows were relaxed, no longer frowning. They caught each other's eyes for a few seconds from across the room, then Clay pulled away again. He nudged Julian, and when the other stared at him with slightly red eyes, he nodded towards Tony. Julian followed his gaze and then smiled widely, ruffling Clay’s hair again.

“Clay!” Tony shouted from across the room. “Let me introduce you to my cousins.” Clay got up and joined the gang outside. “This is Clay, and Clay, these are my cousins Luis, Thomas and Sarah.” Clay greeted them pleasantly. He had been working on his social skills a little, and he had actually seen some improvement. Skye had told him it was all about being relaxed, and so he let the little shard of discomfort in his chest be rocked away like a sandcastle in the waves.They were an agreeable group, though a little bit wild ; some made even José look tame in comparison. Clay found himself laughing alongside the others without too much effort. _It's worth it,_ he thought, because Tony looked so happy. 

Around one in the morning, the party was lulling. Everyone had come in from the backyard, and only the cousins who had planned on staying the night were left, huddled on the couches watching some trashy comedy. Tony had put his DJ equipment away carefully, and was playing chess with Luis in the corner.

After another hour, Clay felt his eyelids drooping, the warmth of the couch and quiet hum of speech rocking him into oblivion.

 

* * *

 

Clay woke up with a weight and a warmth over his chest and legs. He glanced down. Tony’s leather jacket covered him like a blanket. From across the room he caught eyes with Julian, who stared at him for a second, taking the clothing in. He smirked significantly at Clay, and winked rather obviously. Glancing around a little more, Clay noticed quite a few of Tony’s cousins eyeing him curiously, drawn away from the movie that was playing. Instantly, Clay felt his cheeks heat up. He shuffled the jacket off his lap and slipped it on, feeling a little embarrassed for both being tucked in like a little kid, and for falling asleep at a party. Despite this, he was comfortable in the cool leather sleeves.The shoulders were a little big on him, but despite that, overall he thought it was a good fit.

From out of nowhere, Tony jumped onto the couch next to him, sporting a shit-eating grin. He was wearing the white t-shirt that had been under his jacket. “ Nice jacket.” Clay hit him with a pillow. Tony just smiled stupidly, a little drunk. Clay stood up abruptly, still wearing Tony’s leather. “I'm thirsty,” he explained to Tony, who nodded in agreement. Clay proceeded to the kitchen, which was relatively empty, and poured two glasses of orange juice from a pitcher on the counter. He returned to the living room and plopped down beside Tony.

“There’s vodka in this,” Tony scrunched up his face after taking and sip and gestured to the bright, sweet liquid. Clay sipped as well, tasting the hand sanitizer-like bite.

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely vodk-“ Clay was cut off as Tony earned over and kissed him in front of everyone in the room, earning hoots from José and Julian and deeply confused looks from their cousins. Clay blushed deeply, stroking Tony’s mess of hair softly as the other boy wrapped his arms around him.

“You’re drunk,” Clay told him, speaking into his forehead.

“Hey, you spiked my drink,” Tony giggled, taking another sip.

“You were already drunk,” Clay pointed out.

“Maybe.”

“Get a room,” José shouted very loudly. "And please make sure you don't fuck too loud, we still have guests over," he smirked. Tony gave him two middle fingers as all eyes turned to them once again.

Waving goodnight to more teasing from Tony’s brothers, Clay escorted Tony, who was blushing deeply now as well, upstairs to Tony’s room. It was neat, dark blue curtains and bedsheets alongside an abandoned desk and chair, and various items: a backpack, gym bag and folded clothes. Clay took off Tony's jacket and draped it over the chair, leaving him in his t-shirt.

He was suddenly hit with a wave of extreme exhaustion. They collapsed onto the bedcovers without consultation. Why did all of Tony’s things smell so good? There was something that Clay wanted, but he couldn’t quite figure it out in the fog of alcohol, and he was far too tired to move from his spot on the bed.

“I love you, Clay,” Tony nudged him as he spoke, without moving his body from his prone position.

“What?” Clay hadn’t quite heard the mumble.

“I love you,” Tony repeated, voice slightly slurred and eyes closed. "-loved you... always."

With immense effort, Clay turned his head, but Tony was already asleep.

They would never talk about this moment between each other, but both would remember it - drunk and exhausted in the early hours of the morning: the first and only time Tony confessed.  

 

* * *

  
It began as a whisper.

_Justin Foley’s back._

_I thought he was missing?_

Clay seriously didn’t care. He’d wanted Justin to pay for what he did to Hannah and Jessica for months, but then Foley disappeared. Courtney had told him in an attempt at acquaintanceship a few weeks into the trials. Shortly after that, most people knew that Justin Foley skipped town because of his crackwhore mom and her boyfriend. Courtney obviously couldn’t keep her mouth shut, even after Hannah. Clay only felt indifference.

So when he stepped off the bus and his shoulder was hit hard with another bony arm, he didn’t think it would actually be Justin. He looked alright, but just alright, with scuffed shoes and messy hair, and the aura of someone who’d been through more than their appearance let on. He was wearing his typical jock jacket, though it just seemed like a particularly unfunny joke to Clay now.

“Jensen?”

Clay turned his heel and promptly started walking away from the bus stop, hands twisting with ever step. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Clay, I’m sorry about Hannah, alright? Can we talk?”

Clay twisted, shaking Justin’s hand off and refusing to turn around. “No, we can’t talk, Foley.” He enunciated Fo-ley and his voice was spiteful and angry. He went home pissed and swore at his mother, who used a placating tone of voice to suggest he start taking pills again.  _Justin fucking Foley._

He told Tony about the exchange, who had listened with furrowed brows and then moved the conversation on then later, later, not looking at him, murmured that maybe he should hear what Justin had to say. Clay refused flatly and Tony just shrugged. They were trying to move on from the past, but Clay guessed the past had caught up.

The second time they crossed paths was in the school library, a morning when he’d biked there early to finish some homework. There was Justin, slumped over some book he wasn’t reading, eyes fluttering as he scrolled through his phone. Clay hunched over his book as well, and shot daggers every time Justin tried to look at him.

“What he did was wrong, Clay. He deserves everything he’s getting, alright? But I think he was real scared too. I think you should talk to him,” Tony told him in a muffled voice from beneath the car.

“I have nothing to talk about with him anyway,” Clay muttered moodily, leaning back in his lawn chair.

Tony wheeled out from under the car to stare at him. There was a smudge of black oil next to his eye. “He’s an ass, okay? But at least talk, or maybe you’ll regret not knowing what he wanted to say to you.”

Clay huffed as Tony stood up and approached him.

“I would regret associating with him so much more…” he tried, but Tony’s gaze was kind of intimidating and he trailed off lamely. He looked messy in a really, really good way, with that dollop of oil painted smoothly on his cheek, Clay thought.

He waited a few more seconds to make sure Tony was okay with it (he was), then closed the gap between them with a kiss.

 

* * *

 

_January 5, 2017_

They met in Monet’s, Tony and Clay the later party, walking through the clutter of metal chairs to the booth where Justin sat shiftly, hood up. _God I hate this place,_ Clay thought. It reminded him too much of Hannah.  
  
Skye served them coffee in silence, and Clay muttered to her that he’ll call her later. She smiled at him, quick but fully.

“So Justin, you're back,” Tony tried to break the silence. He spoke smoothly, but there was admittedly a bit of awkwardness there. Clay heard a little bit of resentment too. Tony obviously hadn’t forgiven Justin as much as he’d told Clay he’d had.

Justin fumbled with his backpack zipper.

“Yeah, I guess. Guess I am.”

“You here to stay?” Tony drilled.

“Yeah, I think so. I just thought it was time to come back to my mom,” he replied, voice catching, refusing to reveal more.

“Uh Clay,” Justin met his eyes. Tony leaned back protectively.

“Yeah?” Clay muttered.

“I shouldn’t have - with Hannah,” he began. There was real guilt in his voice, old and painful. Clay recognized it easily - it was the same that he felt every day.

“Don't apologize, alright? It was almost a year ago. And there was more than one story,” he offered, staring back into red rims.

Justin nodded back. They all sipped their coffee. A little bitter.

“There’s something we have to do,” Tony said abruptly. The other two snapped up to meet his eyes.

“What is it?” Clay asked, frowning over his mug. Justin did another awkward shuffle, but remained silent. 

“We have to visit Alex.”


	9. Foley, Standall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ran his fingers through Tony’s hair again, the black stark against his skin, shining under the light.Tony closed his eyes against the touch, and for those few moments, the world was calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags, hospitals, sexual content. Enjoy!

_January 10, 2018_

Clay had only visited Alex once before, directly after he shot himself. They had huddled together on the plastic seating only a week after the news had come in: him, Jessica, Zack , Sheri, Tony, and bizarrely, Montgomery de la Cruz, who sat away from the others, smirking at his phone, but at least there. It was just five of them, five people apart from Alex’s family who decided to give a shit. Or were brave enough? They showed their faces, made eye contact with Alex’s father, stared at the huddled mass of blanket, tubes and gauze without speaking, then left their separate ways.

The hospital had the same feeling as last time Clay had been here. It was clean, for sure, white, and the halls gave off the aura that you were going to be taken care of. But the stench of disease and death slathered the walls as well, Clay thought. The paint was like a big sponge, absorbing all the misery that was rolled past. 

Luckily the bullet in Alex’s gun had missed the major blood vessels, brain stem and thalamus. These had basic functions that allowed controlled breathing, and the heartbeat. And they had said that it was better that he’d used a handgun rather than something more powerful; the shot had been slower. The nurse had told Clay that he’d most likely regain speech and movement in time, and with a lot of effort, she emphasized.

If he ever woke up.

They were waved in with very little questions, and Clay couldn’t help but criticize the hospital’s security policies in his head. But then again, who would break into the coma ward with ulterior motives anyway? Alex was hooked up to tubes, IV, and monitors. He looked thin and pale, and kind of like an alien under all the accessories. His hair had grown out, and it was its natural brown now. The nurses had also taken out his nose ring.They stood in front of his bed, side by side, stared.

“You know the crane?” Justin’s voice rang out loudly in the quiet room.

“The what?” Clay asked, leaning into Tony slightly.

“The crane. The one at the end of town near the construction site,” he continued more softly.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I climbed it once. I went all the way to the top,” Justin told them, continuing. “I was at the top, and I really thought I was going to fucking jump.” Clay caught Tony staring at Justin, transfixed. “It was right after I told Jessica what really happened. Nobody else was there for me, I had no home to go to, really, and none of my friends would let me sleep over, but Alex was the one who let me crash at his place. He gave me leftover steak.” Justin finished lamely, not taking his eyes off Alex’s silent form.

“This was like a day before, well,” Justin gestured at Alex again.

“Damn, Justin,” Tony muttered, affected.

Justin glanced at him, then looked back towards Alex. “So Alex,” he continued, “if you can hear that, thank you, I guess.” Clay expected him to stop there, but he went on. “I really, truly had nobody, man. And you were there, and I- thank you. And fuck, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you as well, Alex.” Justin seemed to finish and went over to examine the pile of medical descriptions next to the bed. Tony just looked at him, unable to process that Justin had actually said that.

”Fuck you Padilla, I’m not a monster,” Justin glared at him suddenly, understanding Tony’s gaze. Tony looked away suddenly, but let out a quiet “sorry,” before going to stand next to the head of the bed.

“Alex,” Tony began abruptly, and they could all hear that his voice was choked and rough. “I’m sorry, I -“ he broke off, silent for a few moments. Justin looked around the room awkwardly. Tony swallowed and continued, but this time speaking too softly for either Clay and Justin to hear. Clay watched him lean in over the tubes, almost whispering in Alex’s ear. Tony finished with another few words to Alex, then stood in the silence again.

“Maybe we should visit him, you know, like every week,” Clay suggested, not sure exactly who he was referring to as “we”. Justin looked at him as if to sneer, but Clay was surprised when he just nodded quietly. Tony hummed in quiet agreement, and from that day began weekly after school visits to Alex’s ward.

 

* * *

  
It was strange to get to know Justin Foley. Tony and Clay weren’t exactly sure what to make of him. At school, he avoided his old crowd as if they could burn him if he made eye contact. They didn’t talk much, but Justin sort of tagged along sometimes when they went into the library, quietly working in his corner of the booth. Fridays after school found them piling into Tony’s mustang to sit around Alex’s bedside and do homework, and sometimes just talk. Clay still wasn’t quite sure he could call Justin his friend, but over a surprisingly short period of time, his presence became the norm, and nobody really seemed to mind all that much.

 

* * *

 

 More and more frequently, Clay began to want more. Their kisses became deeper, needy. Sometimes they made Clay feel as desperate for them as air, and he had taken up jerking off at night again, because there was no way he couldn’t. Tony was so fucking beautiful, rough sometimes, pushing Clay backwards while wrapped around Clay’s collar, but at others, almost impossibly soft, the stroke of his hands on Clay’s neck.The vibrato of his voice would send shivers down below Clay’s pants every time things got heated, causing him to blush in embarrassment at his body’s betrayal. It wasn’t as if Tony didn’t want further contact - he too wanted…something, but Clay couldn't tell what it was. What he could tell was when it became too much for Tony, when he started hesitating almost imperceptibly, and his hands started to fumble. When his breathing started to sound less like an ocean and more like a drowning man’s. At these times, Clay would gently pull the other off him, and they’d come down from their high in the silence. If Tony needed to be taken care of, if he needed to move slowly, Clay didn’t mind at all. He would not risk hurting him again, never. But one day, something changed significantly.

 

* * *

  
_January 19, 2018_

They were on the cliff again, lounging on the hood of Tony’s car. It was a much needed escape from the stress of the past weeks. The sun was bright and warm onto the metal, and Clay leaned back, sighing slightly. Somehow his hand found his way into Tony’s. He sat there, looking at their entwined fingers, Tony’s ring shining brightly in the direct light. Smooth, tan skin against fair and freckled; the image was so foreign to Clay, but so undeniably welcome. Tony’s hand was warm, a little bit dry, knuckles slightly scarred from years of dirty fights, and a chipped nail, which he had been carefully avoiding aggravating. Clay looked at his own hand. Pale, long fingered, precise. He wondered if he could punch as hard as Tony. He had gotten an okay throw in at Bryce, hadn’t he? He couldn’t quite remember his first move, only being hit multiple times as he tried to get a confession. That had actually hurt a lot.

“What are you thinking about?” Tony asked him, noticing the smirk that had unconsciously slunk onto Clay’s face.

“Punching Bryce,” he answered truthfully, “right in the middle of his testimony,” he continued, the thought coming ridiculously and clear into his mind. Tony laughed suddenly, and god, even his voice was warm and rich.

He smiled at Clay, eyes shining, just like everything else in the sunny clifftop, before drawing Clay close to kiss him messily. The beauty and heat of the day was entirely enticing, and for a while there was no sounds on the soft breeze except quiet gasps and muttered words.

Clay’s lips were tracing the soft skin of Tony’s neck before he realized it was too much for the other. He could tell the dark haired boy was getting uncomfortable and fidgety. He pulled off Tony, who sat back and stared up into the sky. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize - are you okay?” Clay was fretting, worried he had fucked up. Tony didn’t reply. Clay’s stomach dropped instantly. “Tony?” Clay couldn’t help but let a little bit of panic slip into his voice. “I’m fine, Clay,” Tony told him softly. Clay sighed in relief, relaxing a little, and jumping off the hood to give Tony some space.

“Actually, no,” Tony startled Clay as he hopped off the hood as well.

“I don’t want to give you my problems - they’re my problems,” he continued, rather forcefully, moving in towards Clay as he spoke. “And I should be apologizing to you, because I don’t want to admit it, but I’m pretty fucked up, and I know you know it,” he stated plainly, looking at Clay in a demand for confirmation.

“I’ll be with you, always, no matter what,” was all Clay could offer back, watching the other closely.

Tony moved in and kissed him again, pressing him up against the hood of the car. When he pulled back, he had a sad little smile.

“I’m not entirely sure I’m the right person for you,” he said slowly.Y’know, because I'm messed up, angry, used - were words unsaid, but Clay still heard them.

“You think I’m perfect or something, Tony?” Clay asked, raising his eyebrows and trying to make a point. Tony just nodded sheepishly and kissed him again.

Clay’s eyes widened, a little flustered and exasperated. “Well we both know I’m not. And I don’t know what I would be without you, so…so that’s that,” he continued. “No matter what,” he repeated, like it was some sort of mantra. Tony looked at him long and hard, then kissed him again, tasting him. Clay felt like his body was dissolving into a galaxy of bliss.

“I want this,” Tony murmured to him in the faint space between kisses, and Clay could only moan in agreement as Tony bit his lip, fingers trailing across his collar as he pushed Clay against the hood of the mustang again. Then, Tony sank to his knees in one smooth, fluid motion. His hands met Clay’s jeans, fingers fumbling, hasty. Oh.

“Can I?” Tony looked up at him from his place between Clay’s knees. Clay just nodded breathlessly, cheeks flushed. “But Tony, you don’t-“ Clay tried, but Tony silenced him with a look. Clay sat there meekly, trying to avoid making any embarrassing sounds as Tony finished with his jeans and pulled them down. He pulled one of Clay’s hands down and slipped something onto it. But Clay wasn’t paying much attention, focused on watching Tony, his strong features, and the way he would glance up every few seconds, clearly nervous.

“I want this,” Tony repeated again, reassuringly. Clay could hear the tremor in his voice again, fear hidden a few centimetres below skin. He looked around the deserted path, worried they be caught by an incoming car. But then, Tony pressed his hand carefully against Clay and every other thought dissolved in his mind like they had been made of dust. He stood up to kiss Clay again, hot and controlling, and vaguely, Clay could feel his underwear pulled down as well, feel a warm hand grip him and then, as Tony leaned down once again- one long, unrelenting stripe.  
Clay shuddered, heavily resisting the urge to thrust and move, as he breathed in the clear mountain air and tried to steady his thoughts. Clearly, it wasn’t working. He moaned something unintelligible because Tony’s hot, wet lips were now around him and sucking lightly.

“How does that feel?” Tony asked softly, pulling away and pouting up at him. 

Clay nodded, breathless, the heat in his cheeks palpable. Tony knew he was a virgin, Clay thought. He snapped out of his reverie just in time to watch Tony’s mouth slide all the way to the base, taking it all in his throat. Clay moaned loudly, leaning - almost falling back onto the hood of the mustang.

“That feels so - fucking good,” Clay managed to rasp out between gasps.

In response, Tony increased suction, taking him properly now. Encouragingly, he grasped one of Clay’s hands and guided it to the back of his own hair, telling Clay to take control. Clay knew he wouldn’t last long. His skull already felt like it was splitting apart, his body on fire, vibrating, energetic, and all he could focus on was the movement of Tony’s lips, guided by his own hand, the stroke of Tony. Tony’s mouth was tight, careful and intimate around Clay, humming slightly. Clay could feel the vibration in his throat.

When it finally became too much for Clay, when he began shaking himself apart, held up only by his perch on the mustang hood, toes curling in his shoes and groaning softly, unable to form words, he tried to gesture to Tony, who understood and pulled back. It shattered through him, almost painful in its sharpness, and crisp as the high-altitude air, shaking his bones. He could vaguely hear a voice moaning, high, repeatedly into the otherwise peaceful scenery, and he flushed deeply when he realized it was his own.

When he opened his eyes, the evidence glistened over the leaves on the ground, and Tony gazed back at him, hair all fucked up and lips swollen, taking him in.

“God, Tony,” was all he could really say, taking his hands off the car and zipping back up. “That was…I can’t describe it,” he panted, trying to regain his senses. “You alright?” He asked the black haired boy, who was looking at him still, an expression Clay couldn’t quite decipher on his face. “Yes, it’s fine,” Tony seemed to snap out of it, grinning and licking his lips hastily. Clay sensed it was alright to proceed, and pulled Tony into a soul - wrenching kiss, sloppy and fevered. Clay pulled away, and looked at Tony again.

“I want to do the same to you,” he ventured cautiously. “Oh yeah?” Tony laughed slightly, grinding against him, but looking as though he didn’t believe Clay quite so much. But then Tony pulled back rather suddenly, shaking his head, and there was shame and embarrassment written in his face. “Not today, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said quietly, pulling Clay away gently.

“A-are you sure?” Clay blushed, hesitantly, glancing at the bulge in the other’s pants.Tony just shook his head again, “I can’t-“ he forced out, his cheeks red through his tan skin. Clay nodded, understanding.

Instead, he plopped back onto the sun-warmed hood, exhausted, and still slightly euphoric. After a moment, he felt the weight of Tony push down the car as he lay down next to him, sighing slightly. “Oh, here,” Clay took off Tony’s ring from his own finger and handed it back, their hands stretched out above them, blocking out the sun. Tony took it back a little shyly, explaining, “I didn’t want to scratch you.” Clay laughed, leaning against Tony and knocking their heads together. He ran his fingers through Tony’s hair again, the black stark against his skin, shining under the light.Tony closed his eyes against the touch, and for those few moments, the world was calm.

 

* * *

 

The week after Foley arrived back at Liberty High, he also turned himself into the police. He told them everything he knew about the night of the party, specific details about Bryce Walker. Enough, prosecutors thought, to win the case. Bryce had turned down a plea deal, insisting innocence. 

It wasn't looking good, because even with the ridiculous amount of evidence against Bryce, there was still a strong possibility he'd be able to convince the jury of his innocence and just walk off, record white as a sheet. The Walkers had money, influence and basically the law working on their side. Tony had seen it happen before with the rich kids in his neighbourhood; was there a point in hoping it wouldn't happen again? _We're fucked_ , he thought to himself. 

And then suddenly, as if no time had passed at all since the day Clay sat in Eisenhower Park, it began.

The trial. Key witnesses: Clay Jensen and Justin Foley. What a pair. Clay had dragged himself into the lion’s den, through dirt and blood to get the confession. Justin Foley knew every single ones of Bryce’s faults; a lifetime of dancing with the devil.

It was a storm on the horizon, a year in the making.

 

* * *

 

_January 22, 2018_

Clay sat on the bench in the public seating area next to Tony, fidgeting slightly. He wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or cold, but if he was honest, he was shitting himself. He’d never pretended that he wasn’t scared, anyway. All he could see was the back of Bryce’s head, that dirty blond hair leading to a thick neck. When court was dismissed after the first day, he saw Bryce turn. They locked eyes. Bright blue against bright blue. Clay went home replaying the image over and over. 


	10. Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony met his eyes, and for once, Clay didn’t like how much Tony believed his own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, long time no see. Alright, I decided to actually finish this story. I am thinking hem hem maybe 3-4 chapters left but we will see. Enjoy!
> 
> There is sexual content here and some  
> offensive conversations.

_January 22, 2018_

Tony watched Clay sit there, hanging off the edge of his seat. The hard wooden benches of the courtroom dug into his tailbone. He played absentmindedly with the silver ring on his finger, twisting it in a frantic, irregular pattern. The trial was proving to be a fucking nightmare. The monotone voice of the defence attorney drilled into all of their ears day in and day out. The case of Hannah Baker and Bryce Walker, first popularized by the civil court between school district (read: Clay’s mum) and Hannah’s parents, had attracted a hoard of attention. Even now, at Bryce’s trial, the front parking lot of the courthouse would be filled with reporters and news vans, and Tony and Clay would just rush into his car after proceedings and not say anything.

 

* * *

  
They were in Tony’s bedroom this time, Clay’s pants and underwear on the ground, and Tony’s lips eager around Clay once again. Clay leaned back, stretched across the twin bed and let his head rest on Tony’s pillow, melting into the frantic heat. “Tell me what you want, “ Tony looked up at him. Clay asked in a whisper, feeling extremely embarrassed. Tony just looked at him, gaping. “Are- are you sure?” He asked hesitantly. Clay nodded. “I’ve done it to myself,” he told Tony, trying to convince him, and at this, Tony looked appalled, but nodded.“It…it shouldn’t hurt. You’ll tell me to stop if it does,”Tony muttered, a strain of something vulnerable flashing through his eyes. Clay nodded because it was all he could do and then Tony was on him, in him, easing in and working at it with a care and experience that didn’t quite fit his age.

After, side by side and panting like he'd run a half marathon, Clay leaned his head onto Tony’s chest and asked him “What are we going to do,Tony?” The memories of the day’s court proceedings flooded back and anxiety twisted his gut. “Stick through it. Get through it,” Tony mumbled, and then he was out, Clay following soon after.

 

* * *

 

_January 25, 2018_

They sat at the table in the little coffee shop once again, Justin Foley ever present in their after school adventures now. Clay didn’t know if Tony minded, but he’d been getting along with him pretty decently. Sometimes he’d see Justin do something reminiscent of Hannah and rage would burn up inside him, but then it wouldn’t stay in the pit of his stomach like it used to before. He’d come to realize that Justin Foley, basketball star and cool jock and the real Justin were two different people. Clay wasn't even quite sure that the previous one existed anymore, due to Justin’s alienation from his old friends. He moved around the halls like a ghost now, it seemed.

Tony was talking about the trial again in a hushed voice; it’s all they ever talked about these days. Clay couldn’t bring himself to join in, instead he tipped back a triple americano because caffeine had been keeping him alive for the past year.  
They went to see Alex again, still silent and unmoving, and barely recognizable, but they played cards by his bedside to the smiling nurse’s delight, and when Justin jokingly handed Alex a set of cards as well, Clay glared at him. “Not funny,” he said. Something like anger and guilt and other unreadable emotions flashed through Justin’s face before Tony picked the extra cards gently from Alex’s hand and dealt them out.

The first time he caught Justin crying over Alex was near the end of January, a freezing cold day that had forced them to rush from mustang to hospital doors. Tony sprawled over the lounge seat by the window doing calculus homework but skipping the hard questions because Clay would explain them anyway. Two other chairs had become permanent additions to the room, though Alex rarely had other visitors. Clay had almost dozed off a dozen times in the warmth of the room. Justin was sitting closest to Alex scrolling through music on his phone to play. They had all wondered if Alex could hear them until the nurse passing through had mentioned that it was very likely. As Justin turned a little, tears cascaded down his cheek. He wiped them away quickly, and pretended to fix his hair. Clay pretended he didn’t see.

“It’s his birthday,” Justin told them a little while later. No one felt like singing happy birthday, but they talked to Alex, told him what was going on in their lives and cracked some wise jokes, hoping he could hear them.

“So what is it with you two?” Justin asked one day in the school library. “What?” Clay said blankly. “You and Tony. Is he your boyfriend or something?” Justin smirked. “Wha- no. I don’t know.” Clay spluttered, taken aback. “You guys are banging?” Justin asked with an asshole grin. The question hung in the air; Clay didn’t grace it with a reply. Justin didn’t seem to mind. “He’s in love with you, Jensen, I can tell. I’ve got like, a gaydar or some shit.”

Too many people had been saying that to him lately: Julian, Justin, and every Ryan, who crept up on an uncharacteristically genuine note to tell him he was glad Tony was doing well. Tony does look better, Clay thought, and Skye agreed with him. She was one of the few people uninvolved in any of the Hannah case; it made her presence incredibly refreshing.

 

* * *

 

_January 29, 2018_

Tony pushed the curtain of his hair out of his eyes. “Oh,” he choked out, because Clay’s lips were pressed around him and his car was roaring beneath him, foot still clamped on the gas. The country road was empty for miles around this area except for them, thank God, because Tony was a good driver but he wasn’t sure that he would be able to control the wheel with Clay on him. Even still, he felt like he was high off the smell of the grass and the roar of the engine. Clay pulled up, lips glistening, and wiped the moisture onto his sleeve carelessly. “That was amazing,” Tony told him, panting, because fuck, it was, and because he’d forgotten how good it felt. Or maybe it was because it was Clay this time. They crossed back into their town at around 7PM, and after Tony’s makeshift cooking and a movie, Tony’s family still weren’t home, so Clay texted his mom and asked if he could have a sleepover. She replied with a noncommittal “ok”- it was at Tony’s place so it was alright.

They fell into Tony’s bed on top of one another, wrestling and laughing until Clay was beyond needy, almost painfully flushed below Tony’s silhouette. The darker boy swapped their places and lay there, completely naked on his stomach with unspoken words. “Are you sure?” Clay asked him quietly, and Jesus, he wanted to so bad, but he needed to know that Tony would be okay. “Yeah,” Tony said, soft and small. He groaned softly as Clay slid lube-soaked fingers in, and then even more softly when Clay thrust into unbearable heat. It took all of Clay’s self control to move hesitantly, and Tony took it panting, hands braced in a death grip against the bed frame. When Clay brushed his hands down Tony’s thighs, he felt the framework of scarring left by Marco’s group, thick lines of initials and careless slashes, though he couldn’t see them in the black of the room. Tony closed his eyes under Clay’s touch and shook beneath him, panic beating in his chest, but his one hand stayed on Clay’s thigh, guiding him to the end.

“Fuck,” was the first thing Clay said when he could breathe again. Tony rolled over with flushed cheeks, and for a sharp, piercing moment Clay was worried, but then Tony was kissing him full on the mouth as if it was the only thing he knew how to do.

 

* * *

 

_February 2, 2018_

On Saturday, Tony, Clay and Justin went to visit Alex again. They had planned to do homework and play cards, the usual hangout to accompany Alex. Half an hour in, the usual nurse rushed over, beaming so brightly that they could all tell something was different this time. “You boys are Alex’s friends, so I’m just going to tell you this now. Alex has been minimally conscious for almost nine months. Up until now, we hadn’t seen any progress, but his brain scans have been looking very positive just this last week.” They all started talking at once. “He’s waking up?” Justin asked the nurse, a mixture of pain and incredulous relief swirling in his expression. She smiled even more widely, and with kind eyes, told him that at least partial recovery was a likely possibility. “Having his friends come and go so often could only have helped,” she- Debra- went on to hug them each in her wrinkled arms and Clay didn’t have the heart to point out that cognitive stimulation had never actually been proven to benefit recovery, or that he and Alex had never considered each other friends.

They visited the hospital almost every day from that point on. All three of them would sit quietly and pretend all was normal though the room practically buzzed with the news of Alex’s recovery. Justin glance at Alex so often it appeared that he had a twitch. Four days after they first got the news, they walked into the room and Alex’s eyes were open. “Alex,” Tony breathed, but Justin got there first. They crowded around the bed, waiting for a response, but Alex only blinked. “You let ‘im take his time, youngsters,” a nurse they weren’t familiar with stuck her head through the door. “He’s not say’n too much at the moment, but we seen progress every day so far.” They nodded in thanks, and then Tony asked “can you hear us, Alex?”. The blonde blinked again, but he’d met Tony’s eyes, and seemed to be following the conversation. “You’ve been here for almost nine months,” Justin choked out, and those piercing blue eyes snapped to him. “You’ve been in like, a coma, or some shit,” he continued. “I don’t think it was a coma this whole time, probably only the first month,” Clay said. “So maybe there’s a chance of him getting better?” He continued.

“Hey guys,” was all Alex said, croaked and raspy, and then Justin did that thing where he cried and tried to hide it from the rest of them.

 

* * *

  
_February 20, 2018_

After the blissful hope brought on by Alex’s consciousness (he’d been stringing together whole sentences), he’d been taken home. The move may have caused some disappointment on Justin’s part as Alex lived quite a ways away from Justin, but he still managed to stay by his bedside for a few hours a day. This mainly left Clay and Tony to spend afternoons in the library, not wanting to bring a crowd into Alex’s house.

However, this particular afternoon, Clay had insisted on taking the bus home and so Tony was alone in the garage, deep in the car and frustrated. There was just something not right within the cavern of the hood, and for the life of him, he couldn’t pinpoint the issue. “Fuck,” he swore, as he dropped a bolt and watched it bounce straight under the mustang. “Very smooth,” Julian declared, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing a coke from the fridge. Tony made a face, and then asked “can you help me with this? I don’t know what’s wrong with it.” “Does it drive?” Julian smirked. Tony nodded at at his brother, confused. “Then it’s fine,” Julian laughed. “You’re the worst,” Tony said, but he was laughing too.

His brother plopped down onto the workbench and gestured for him to sit down as well.

”I told you about Alex, right?”

“Yeah, you did. It’s good to hear. He’s part of Justin Foley’s group right?”

“Sure, maybe,” Tony shrugged at him.

“That Foley kid used to be such an annoying little shit. Always at the park, remember?” Tony remembered. All the kids in their neighbourhood used to hang out at Eisenhower Park back in the day. Justin would always be there the earliest and stay out the latest.

“Yeah,” Tony mused. “How are things going for you?”

“Good!” His brother replied. “I actually was going to tell you. I might have to go to New York in a few weeks.”

“The work thing?” Tony asked. Julian worked at a growing manufacturing company, and to everyone’s surprise, he’d been doing very well the past few years.

“Yeah. There are a couple of deals over there and Brian- you remember him, right?”

“Yup.” They had been best friends since before Tony was born.  
“He’s sending me and a few others to make sure everything is going well.”

“I’m proud of you, bro, really.” The family had always thought Julian was the kid that would end up dealing, but Tony had always believed in his oldest brother.

“Thanks,” Julian said and squeezed him sideways for a hug. “I might actually be there for a while. A couple of months. You’ll be okay without me? Well, actually,” he smirked, and didn’t give Tony time to answer, “ you have Clay now, don’t you.” Tony punched him in the arm. It was true though, Julian had always watched over him.

“I’m glad he can take my place. Looking after you is such a hassle,” Julian continued.

He grinned stupidly, and then out of the blue,“ do you think you love him?” And Tony knew Julian didn’t mean it in that cheesy teen romance way. Not at all. That was one of the best things about his oldest brother; when it mattered, he always treated Tony like they were the same age.

Tony smiled and looked at the ground. “I had. I have. I think I was just scared to admit it to myself. Sometimes… sometimes everything is just so good it feels like a movie, right? Like, not real,” he trailed off a bit lamely, but that was okay.

Julian ruffled his hair and Tony scowled, brushing his hand away.

“Life can be good, kid.”

 

* * *

 

_March 25, 2018_

They were sitting in Monet’s wrapped around a round table, Clay, Tony, Skye, Justin and even Alex in his wheelchair; he was still re-learning how to walk. Alex had been out and about for the first time that week, and all had seen it as a cause for celebration. He was sitting with a foamy hot cup of chocolate and a slice of lemon cake. His hair was short, and if you looked for more than a second, you could see the scar of the bullet’s entry into the right side of his head. The hair was back to its natural brown, so the scar was a little less visible. Clay still avoided looking at it because it reminded him of the pain- old now, but still knife-fresh when it resurfaced. Instead, he had tried to get to know Alex a little more through the past weeks. To Clay’s delight, the blonde turned out preach the same kind of subtle humour as Clay did, and they got along well. This, Clay both regretted and appreciated- the latter because somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that maybe he should have just talked to Alex more freshman year- they’d had three classes together- and then they could have been friends and maybe if he was nicer to everyone none of this would have every happened. Hannah would be sitting here and Alex wouldn’t have his scar, Tony wouldn’t have had to go through shit, Justin wouldn’t have run away and everyone else would be alright. Their biggest high school drama would be a love triangle or something. He got lost in the thought.

Skye came over and gave him a blueberry muffin and whispered not to tell any other waitresses because she’d already gotten caught giving away free food about five times, and a sixth might be the last time. At this, a snicker passed around the group. Clay leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder, feeling full, happy and warm as he smiled down at his phone. In the background, he could vaguely follow as Justin recounted a story he overheard on the bus the other day. It was getting late, and soon Tony drove all of them home except for Skye, who was on the night shift. She waved them out with vigor.

“Later, losers.”

Tony broke off the kiss. “Okay, leave before I kick you out,” he teased, and Clay pushed him jokingly before sliding out the passenger seat and heading up the steps onto his porch. “See you tomorrow,” he called out to the figure seated in the mustang. Tony nodded and saluted him before the silhouette of the car disappeared around the corner.

Clay pushed open the door and shuffled inside. Lainie sat at the kitchen going over some files, but she stood up when Clay came in, forehead wrinkled like it always did when she was deep in work. 

“Clay, honey. You didn’t tell me you were testifying in the Walker trial?” She began.

Clay hadn’t, but there had been enough mail in his name that he thought she’d already known. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew,” he said carefully. There had been a reason he didn’t want to tell her.

“Do you have your statement prepared?” She asked, voice soothing and overly gentle.

“Yes, mom.” Clay said pointedly.

“It’s just…What have you witnessed, Clay? What are you not telling me? Because if you have something…I should know,” his mom pleaded.

Though the existence of the 13 tapes had circulated the community, few knew about tape 14 - the Baker’s choice to keep it hidden until a key moment in the trial.

“And, you know, this trial affects everything. Everyone,” she continued slowly.

“Just as an example, Mr. Walker-“

And there it was. Mr. Walker was a prominent influence on Lainie Jensen’s career. To have her precious son - perfect, just like his mother- testify against the son of such an important man. Well, that just would be far too much gossip for Lainie to handle. The issue of the Walker's wealth, priviledge and influence on his doorstep.

“I can’t tell you, mom. I know. I’ll try my best not to hurt your position.” For goodness sakes, she wasn’t even participating in the trial.

“You are being very ungrateful. How dare you think you can just do whatever you please and not inform me about it? Clay?” Even when Lainie raised her voice it still sounded like she was reading from a script. She ran a hand through graying hair- freshly dyed.

Clay didn't reply.

“You are definitely in over your head. You don’t know what you’re dealing with and if you did, you would sit down and tell me.” Lainie slammed the folder down on the counter when she yelled as if to make a point.

“I have to take an oath mom. I can’t lie. There are just...too many lies,” he said, and his voice echoed around the empty kitchen. No doubt his dad could hear them arguing and was just too cowardly to show face, he said in his head. He regretted thinking it, but it was true.

“I’ve put up with you for so long already, Clay. All this depression shit last year, running away, whatever, right? I was there for you,” Lainie pointed at him. Clay had never heard his mother swear before.

“And now, you are what, dating Tony? And I find out from Tony's parents? After all of this, finally, I thought- I’m sorry, but you should be dating a girl. It’s just my opinion-“

“Stop trying to run my life!” He spat, cutting her off, he couldn’t help it. The anger that was building up in him, bubbling and burning in his chest, forced its way out, and he'd barely crawled through this past year anyway. Sometimes it surprised him that he didn't completely snap. 

She just stood there with a look of shock on her face, breathing heavily, chest heaving.

“I have to tell the truth,” Clay whispered.

 

* * *

  
_March 29, 2018_

Days were passing like minutes in the chilly breeze, and the witness statements approached, an ominous cloud. Thoughts pinballed in his head and his body felt like the physical manifestation of a wound up spring.

Tomorrow. The trial was tomorrow. He'd been avoiding his parents for the past week, too, so he was in the library with Tony, trying desperately to review his notes a few more times. “I’m going to rip him apart. I want them to send him away for life,” Clay whispered viciously, tugging at his hair.

“With the influence he has, ripping him apart may not be the best choice. For yourself,” Tony muttered back.

“That’s what my parents said. But Tony, look what happened. All of it,” he frowned. So many lives ruined or ended. Who was there to blame?

“You should quit reading that. There's not much point,” Tony said, teeth grit in his voice. Clay glared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He countered.

“I’m just saying, no amount of re-reading that is going to help. I want to say there will be justice, Clay. But I just don’t know. I’ve seen shit like this happen so much before, and you don’t even understand the influence the Walkers have. They run the town,” Tony met his eyes, and for once, Clay didn’t like how much Tony believed his own words.

“So what? I don’t even try?” Clay spat. “Is that what you want, Tony? You'd like all of this over so you can just fuck me whenever, right?”

It wasn’t true. Regret flashed through Clay’s face and then it was gone, defensive again. The point behind his left eyebrow began to pulse and twist like it hadn’t in a year.

“Clay-“ Tony started, tight-lipped and not quite sure what to say. Clay could see Tony's temper slip in the grinding glare and barely restrained voice, and Jesus that had been such a low blow it was practically underground.

“You know what, Tony? Don’t talk to me until this shit is fucking over, if that’s what you want,” Clay flung at him, then stood up abruptly, packed and shoved the chair back in so hard it made Tony visibly flinch.

And as Clay stormed away, tears of guilt, fear, and stress started coming and they didn’t slow down until he reached the bus stop.

 

* * *

 

_April 1, 2018_

Clay watched Justin shuffle up to the microphone, adjust it gingerly, and address the jury. It was obvious enough that he was nervous, the faint wobble of Justin’s voice echoed around the room. “I went to go back in the room, but Bryce pushed me out.” Bryce was staring at him, transfixed, and Clay could hear Justin falter yet agin. Then Justin came down, the Judge nodded at him curtly, and he returned to his seat. Then it was Clay’s turn to speak. Guiltily, he found Tony's face in the far benches, a pale mask of an expression, yet the other boy nodded at him encouragingly. 

But from this point on, Clay couldn’t remember the exact things he said during his stand at the trial. Every time, tracing back through those memories, they remained distorted, blurred during that single hour - as if looking through warped glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4:36AM, here are my blood sweat and tears im sorryyyy if it sucked 
> 
> The first few chapters spanned a few days. This one chapter spans over two months. is it too fast?
> 
> I talked about a trial: I dont know how those work. If I guessed wrong, tell me.  
> I talked about comas: I don't know how those work. If i guessed wrong please tell me. 
> 
> also: I went back through this fic and made it much less graphic. I WENT TOO FAR GUYS
> 
> Please leave a review on your way out


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